


Juliet is Bleeding

by julien (julie)



Series: The Deal / Juliet is Bleeding [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Episode: s02e07 Juliet Is Bleeding, F/M, Novelization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-05-10
Updated: 1997-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 42,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22946059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/julien
Summary: When Frank’s sister Irene Zuko returns home to Chicago, she and Ray renew their teenage romance, with tragic results for everyone.
Relationships: Ray Vecchio/Irene Zuko
Series: The Deal / Juliet is Bleeding [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642996
Kudos: 1





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** A novelization of episode 207 _Juliet is Bleeding_. 
> 
> **First published:** along with a novelization of _The Deal_ as a one-off zine on 10 May 1997.

♦

From out on the street this seemed to be just another cafe – a pleasant place to meet with your friends over garlic bread and pasta, or perhaps somewhere to take a date for a cappuccino or a Strega after a movie for the cafe was always open late. The decor was a deft blend of traditional Italian features and more modern touches, such as the neon sign in the window announcing the cafe’s name. A range of healthy-looking potted plants indicated the warmth to be found inside, providing an inviting contrast to the snow piled up on the sidewalks. There were always customers here, whether they were regulars or the passing trade attracted by the welcoming atmosphere.

But this was Frank Zuko’s neighborhood, and things weren’t always what they seemed. There was an unmarked door in the back wall of the cafe, a door that appeared innocuous but was actually locked and guarded, and behind the door was a room where a person in the know could gamble. Because gambling was illegal in Chicago, the only legitimate casinos were floating ones – river-boats operating on Lake Michigan. Which meant that on-shore gambling dens like this were a guaranteed source of income for people like Zuko.

This particular evening was quiet, or at least as quiet as Chicago ever was – though trade was good. There were a number of customers, the lawful ones in the cafe and the gamblers hidden away in the back room. Everything was running smoothly, profits were being turned.

But then, just outside the cafe, an up-market sedan car pulled over to the curb with a squeal of brakes. Four men climbed out, moving quickly, looking about them with nervous excitement. They were all wearing overcoats, business suits and ties – nothing shabby, but nothing particularly noteworthy either. What was odd, though, was that the men also wore knitted balaclavas over their heads, obscuring their faces. And they were carrying baseball bats.

The four anonymous thugs walked quickly into the cafe, and that was when the peacefully busy mood shattered.

‘No one move!’ one thug yelled to all and sundry. He caught up a stool and threw it into the shelves of bottles behind the bar area. The crash of glass and the spilling of expensive liquor made quite the impression on both staff and customers.

‘Hey!’ the cafe manager cried out, lifting his hands in protest, and running out from behind the bar. ‘Hey, stop this!’

‘Stay where you are,’ he was told.

But the manager was already right in the thug’s face. Despite the fact he was an older man, and built on a modest scale, the manager was talking as if he was very very sure of himself. ‘Hey, come on… What the hell do you think you’re doing? We’re _protected.’_

‘Protected? Not anymore,’ was the reply. And the thug hefted his forearm up and solidly into the cafe manager – both the manager and a tray of coffee cups sitting on the end of the counter were knocked to the floor.

Two of the other thugs were towering over the cafe patrons, pushing chairs and stools over, letting plates and wineglasses smash on the tiled floor. There were screams and cries, but most of the customers knew enough to stay out of harm’s way.

The first thug headed over to the secret door in the back wall and kicked it open, then strode into the gambling den with the other thug at his side. Poker machines lined the side wall, and lights hung low over a range of card games being played at seven or eight tables.

‘This is a message from the Dorrio brothers,’ the thug announced.

Amidst the verbal protests of the dealers and the punters, the two thugs began kicking tables over, sending playing cards and gambling chips flying, pushing the customers around, setting the lights swinging to and fro. One used his baseball bat to smash the glass and wheels and workings of a few poker machines.

‘Hey, what’s going on here?’ the people in the back room were asking. ‘What do you want?’ And there were even pleas of, ‘Come on, you guys, take it easy!’

Having made their point, the two thugs headed back out into the cafe.

The manager began talking with the first thug again. ‘What are you doing? Are you crazy, making this kind of trouble?’ And he said, ‘You know this is Frank Zuko’s place.’ The manager was thrown out of the way against the wall.

There were certain unwritten but heavily enforced rules in this neighborhood. People knew how things worked, and the penalty for challenging the status quo was harsh. So none of this made any sense, and the manager’s outrage and confusion were the most reasonable of reactions. In causing this damage, the thugs were calling trouble down on their own heads – but it seemed that they knew exactly what they were doing, so maybe trouble was what they wanted.

‘Tell Frank Zuko he’s out of business,’ the thug announced loudly. ‘As of _now_. Tell him that from the Dorrio brothers.’

The four of them made sure the message would be delivered by smashing piles of cups and plates with their bats, sweeping bottles of liquor off the shelves, threatening the staff. One threw his bat at a framed mirror, and it fell apart, landing in the bric-a-brac displayed below. Somehow he avoided seven years of bad luck, for the mirror itself didn’t break. The customers cowered down, most of them huddling under the tables, not wanting to find themselves in the middle of something that didn’t directly concern them.

The damage was fairly extensive, but the real message was contained in the sheer audacity of the delivery itself. No one did this kind of thing to Frank Zuko, no one slapped him in the face – and certainly not in public like this.

Once they were done, perhaps within less than two minutes from when they’d first entered the cafe, the thugs gathered together and left. The four of them strode through the door and across the sidewalk, and clambered into the car. Their breath came hard and their adrenalin was pumping. As the car pulled away from the curb and merged with the traffic, they all tore off the balaclavas – and sitting there in suits and ties they appeared to be nothing more dangerous than four businessmen after a successful confrontation with a competitor. They were all smiling, inordinately pleased with themselves.

One of the thugs in the back seat grabbed up a box flashily wrapped in silver paper, and handed it forward to the man in the passenger seat. ‘Michael, don’t forget the present.’

The man took the box into his hands, and his smile grew into a broad grin. ‘Oh, there’ll be so many presents for Frank tonight,’ he murmured. ‘So very many presents.’

♦

A few blocks away, a mint condition 1971 emerald green Buick Riviera was easing along a neighborhood street while the occupants looked for a place to park. This car was also carrying four men. Detective Ray Vecchio of the Chicago PD was, of course, driving his beloved automobile – and his best friend, Constable Benton Fraser of the RCMP, was sitting beside him in the passenger seat. Ray’s love-to-hate-them colleagues, Detectives Jack Huey and Louis Gardino, were sitting as far apart as possible in the Riviera’s surprisingly spacious back seat. Accompanying the humans, sitting in the front and staring alertly through the windshield, was Fraser’s wolf Diefenbaker.

It wasn’t often that these four men socialized together, but tonight they had something to celebrate.

Indeed, as it was December, the whole city of Chicago was geared up for celebrations. There were Christmas decorations all along this street, pretty patterns of fairy-lights strung across from building to building. The lights’ red, white and green theme reflected both the season and the Italian background of this neighborhood.

‘Look, you can’t afford this,’ Huey was saying from the seat behind Ray. ‘Let me stop you before you embarrass yourself.’

‘Eat your heart out, Jack. Of course I can afford it.’

‘Oh, I can see it now, we’ll all be washing dishes before this night is through,’ the fellow grumbled to himself in his melodious voice.

Louis just had to confirm the situation one more time. ‘Everything’s on you? The whole check?’

Ray smiled as he pulled over the Riv beside a parking spot just down the block from the restaurant. ‘Everything,’ he said. ‘This is a significant raise, my friends, and we are celebrating in the style I plan on quickly becoming accustomed to.’

‘Significant, sure. I remember my last raise,’ said Gardino, sounding rueful. ‘It got eaten up by taxes and alimony so fast, I ended up with less than when I started. I mean, you have family, too, right?’

‘Yeah,’ Ray agreed with a shrug. So he was the main if not the only breadwinner of the Vecchio home, and he had other responsibilities, and he was way behind on the tithe for his church, and his credit card was suffering under the weight of the latest Armani suit, and the Riviera was due for a thorough service – but it wouldn’t do to think too much about such mundane matters when all Ray really wanted right now was to treat his friends to a night out.

‘Ha!’ Huey exclaimed, perhaps sensing what was running through Ray’s mind. ‘Golden arches, here we come. At least we won’t have to wash dishes there.’

‘No,’ said Louis, very unimpressed with the idea – ‘we’d be scrubbing out deep-fryers.’

‘Golden arches indeed,’ Ray muttered as he reversed the car neatly into place. ‘Hey, let me tell you something, Jack, all right? This place, Pat Scarpetta’s, is the best restaurant in the world. Louie will back me up on that. They got a puttanesca like no other… It’s even better than my mother’s.’ With a smirk, Ray added, ‘Which is probably just as well.’

None of the men seemed inclined to get out of the warm car in order to brave the snow-laden sidewalks between there and the restaurant.

‘Puttanesca?’ Fraser asked. ‘What is that?’

Ray and the other two men laughed, and Louis volunteered to explain. ‘It’s a pasta dish with a pretty strong sauce, all anchovies and olives and capers and stuff like that. It’s named after ladies of the night. They could throw it together real quick, see, between clients.’

‘The dish is named after female shift workers, Louis?’

The cop groaned. ‘ _Puttane_ – whores, Fraser. Don’t they have whores in Canada?’

Ray was snickering, having cottoned on to this innocent act of Fraser’s some while ago. Not that he hadn’t been the butt of the Mountie’s teasing a few times himself along the way. Deciding to rescue Gardino, Ray continued, ‘And then there’s the wine cellar, which is all authentic Italian –’

‘ _Wine_ cellar?’ Huey interjected. ‘Oh, _please_.’ As the men and the wolf belatedly began climbing out of the car, Jack addressed himself to Fraser. ‘Do you see this man? The last time he got a promotion, to celebrate he bought us a case of generic beer, and we drank it in the station canteen. _This_ man,’ Huey added for good measure, indicating Ray with a dismissive gesture.

As they gathered together on the sidewalk, Ray saw that Louis was grinning at the memory of this truly awesome cheapness. Gardino said, ‘And we all had to give him five cents for every bottle we didn’t return.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Ray muttered, choosing not to seek retribution with tales of Gardino’s numerous failings. ‘This time, guys, it’s first class all the way.’

And, except for Gardino of course, they did all present as men who deserved such top-of-the-line treatment. Fraser was wearing his brown uniform which, while less fussy and bright than his dress reds, was still smart. Huey was dressed as fine and as understated as usual. Whereas Louis was proving yet again that he had no idea – his tartan tie clashed horribly with his checked suit jacket – and while everything else he was wearing was at least plain, the colors could not be said to be harmonious. As for that goatee, someone really should tell Gardino that he was not and never would be Brad Pitt. Ray, feeling bold and superior in his burnt umber shirt and dark grey suit, could only laugh.

‘First class…’ Louis repeated, as he and his partner Huey led the way down the sidewalk. Fraser fell into place beside Ray, and the two of them watched as Louis began talking loud, hands at full tilt. The man seemed to be in fine spirits tonight. ‘OK, great. Then I’m going to have the calamari after the stracciatella, followed by the bucatini prima vera. _Then_ I’m going to have the scaloppine saltimbocca…’

Falling back a little, Ray and Fraser let Gardino and his gastronomical day-dreams fade into the distance. It was quite a cold night, and their breath was fogging, streaming out behind them as they walked.

‘Ray,’ Fraser said, ‘if you don’t mind me asking, what salary does a Detective First Grade receive?’

Ah, that one he knew by heart, having read his letter of promotion a few dozen times. Ray rattled off the lovely figure – ‘Thirty-five thousand, five hundred and eighty dollars per annum.’

‘And what did you make before that?’

‘Thirty-three and a half thousand,’ Ray told him with a shrug.

‘And the average cost of an entree at this establishment?’

‘Oh, fifteen bucks.’

Fraser seemed rather taken aback by this kind of expense. ‘And the _wine_?’

‘I don’t know,’ Ray said, a little annoyed by this inquisition and the foolish extravagance it implied. ‘Say, twenty dollars a bottle. Why?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ Fraser said, brushing the topic off. ‘Nothing.’

They reached the restaurant at last. A rather classy Christmas tree stood in the window, subtly decorated in whites and silvers. Louis was standing there with Huey, both of them examining the menu displayed by the door. Gardino was still in full swing – and Ray reflected that, luckily for him and his wallet, no man could possibly consume everything Louis was listing.

‘…and after the espresso, I’m going to top it off with a chocolate tartuffo. No, I’m going to have two espressos. And then a zabaglione to slip nicely down the sides.’

‘I think I’ll order the same,’ announced Huey. ‘Except I’ll have three espressos and maybe a nip of brandy.’

Oh yeah, thought Ray, real funny. Well, Louis obviously thought so – he laughed, and clasped Huey’s shoulder before guiding his partner inside.

Fraser bent down to scan the menu, and quickly stood up again with his bland look painted on thickly. No doubt a Canadian’s idea of fine dining was barbecued caribou steak for a buck ninety-nine, and maybe lashing out on an imported beer.

Knowing that Fraser would have just computed the probable bill plus tip and sales tax, Ray asked, ‘How much?’

‘I think I’m going to have the soup.’

Ray couldn’t help but smile in relief at this noble austerity. ‘Ah, you’re a good man, Benny.’

Diefenbaker was sitting there on the sidewalk between the two humans. He let out a whine which might be interpreted as an observation on the incompatibility of soup with a wolf’s digestive system.

‘Who invited him?’ Ray asked the Mountie with a frown, having horrible visions of an expensive slab of steak being added to the bill.

‘You did,’ said Fraser.

‘Yeah, he can stay in the car.’

‘Well, then I misunderstood.’ Fraser explained, ‘I just thought, it being a very special occasion, and given that Diefenbaker was in part responsible for your –’

Ray immediately protested, ‘ _Responsible_? The wolf tagged along.’

‘Oh,’ said the Mountie, ‘is that fair?’

‘Fraser, if I’d known you came as a package deal, I never would have taken you on as my partner.’

Actually looking hurt – though that was probably as misleading as Fraser’s repertoire of bland expressions – and apparently endeavoring to appeal to Ray’s non-existent better nature, Fraser said, ‘Diefenbaker’s been looking forward to this, and he hasn’t eaten all day.’

‘Fraser, there are no wolf portions on the menu.’

Diefenbaker gave the humans to understand that he was rather unimpressed at being excluded.

And at last Ray rolled his eyes heavenwards, and gave in yet again. If he wasn’t careful, Dief would begin thinking of the cop as a soft touch. ‘All right, all right,’ Ray said, opening up the restaurant door. ‘I’ll bring you out a doggie bag.’

An affronted growl was the only reply.

Fraser took his Stetson off, and said to Diefenbaker, ‘Now don’t be like that. I’ve discussed this attitude with you before.’ Rather defensively the man added, ‘And there’s no need to be resentful – I’m just having the soup.’

‘Will you get in here?’ Ray asked him.

‘Sorry, Ray.’ And the Mountie stepped past Ray, leaving the wolf outside.

Honestly, Ray thought – with all the hassle and all the teasing and all the injured feelings, it made a person wonder why he even bothered trying.

♦

Ray finally walked into the restaurant, overtaking Fraser as the Mountie hovered just inside the door. This place was always popular, but it was even more crowded than usual tonight, with all kinds of people standing around in groups chatting or sitting at the tables with bottles of wine and the best food in the world. A live band was playing one of the traditional Italian weddings-parties-anything tunes, and everything felt incredibly warm and cozy for such a large series of rooms. With his happy smile returning, Ray made his way through the customers, looking for the owner of the restaurant himself.

When a waitress attempted to approach him, Ray held up his hand and said politely, ‘Thank you, we have a reservation.’ And there was Pat Scarpetta – Ray could see him in the distance glad-handing the customers.

Huey and Gardino were waiting at the end of the bar, having progressed no further into the crowd. As Ray came up behind them, Huey was reading something out in the flattest of tones – ‘Happy birthday, Frank.’ Ray looked up to see a sign strung across the main room from wall to wall, conveying that very message in gold lettering on a black background. ‘What is this?’ Huey asked.

‘Zuko…’ Louis replied, and he pointed, drawing Huey and Ray’s attention to where Frank Zuko sat at a large table to one side of the happy birthday sign. Pat was there, shaking the mobster’s hand. Ray lost his smile somewhere as the three cops made a quick assessment of the ramifications of the situation. Gardino commented with some foreboding, ‘This is going to be good.’

It was months since Ray had last seen Frankie. Months since Frank had threatened the life of Joey Paducci, and had his goons rough up Fraser so badly. Months since Ray had left Frank Zuko bleeding on the floor of the basketball court. And there had been no trouble between them in all that time – in accordance with the deal they’d made, Joey had got his shoe-repair business up and running, and had been left untouched – and Frankie’s goons hadn’t bothered either Ray or Fraser again.

And now here Frankie was. Here they all were.

Pat Scarpetta had seen Ray and his friends standing there, and started making his way over, wending his way through the people. He called out in welcoming tones, ‘Hey, Ray! How are you doing, buddy?’

Ray dredged up a smile for the man, though he knew it was a weary and sardonic one. So much for his celebrations.

Once Pat was close enough he shook Ray’s hand, then leaned in close to talk confidentially. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I tried to call you.’ He gestured helplessly around him at the crowd. ‘But it’s a private party, Ray. They booked the place out.’

Deliberately speaking louder than the restaurateur, Ray asked, ‘What are you saying, Pat? Are you kicking me out? Is that what you’re doing?’

Gardino was right there hanging over Ray’s shoulder. ‘These guys hate each other, Pat,’ he said, confronting the guy but using slightly more subtle tones than Ray’s. ‘You didn’t think about that before you took the reservation?’

‘Come on, it’s Frankie Zuko’s birthday. What am I going to do – tell him _no_? It’s not worth the agony.’

Fraser took a step closer to add, ‘The man does have a point, Ray. Why don’t we go find another establishment that isn’t as busy?’

‘No way, Benny. First class all the way, I said, and this place is it.’ Ray continued to Pat, speaking quietly now, ‘You know the rules of the neighborhood – you cater to both sides, and you don’t play favorites. You know better than to kick me out of here just because Frankie happened to arrive first, all right?’

‘But, Ray –’

‘Tell me, Pat – if I’d have got here first, would you try not letting Frankie in the door? No? I didn’t think so.’

‘Ray, come on, be reasonable about this…’

‘Hey, what do you say I walk in there and see if I can find a valid permit for every gun in the house? What do you say I gather some names, and go check for outstanding warrants? Or, I tell you what – you’d be amazed at how many people don’t bother paying their parking tickets. If we collected what they owed from everyone in here, the city would be able to afford a whole new infrastructure.’

Spreading his hands, Pat asked in incredulous tones, ‘Are you trying to get me killed?’

‘No, Pat,’ Ray said oh-so-very-softly, ‘I’m just trying to get a table.’

And, with a last glare of righteous determination, Ray walked away from his friends and Pat, and headed over to where Zuko was sitting in state.

‘Hey, Frankie,’ the cop called out, in obviously forced conviviality. ‘Good to see you.’

‘Ray…’ From all outward appearances, the son of the mobster was pleasantly surprised – however, both Ray and Frank knew that the latter’s habitual amiability was fake. ‘Ray Vecchio,’ the guy repeated, ‘who’d have thought it. You still remember my birthday? Hey, the years are piling up now, aren’t they?’

‘Oh, you know what they say – it’s not the years, it’s the mileage.’

Frank laughed. ‘I remember back when we used to think we’d never reach thirty. We didn’t even _want_ to be that old, we never wanted to grow up. Now look at us, in our prime. I guess the mileage hasn’t been as bad as we thought it’d be.’

‘I guess not,’ Ray agreed.

‘So,’ Frank said after a pause, ‘what brings you to Pat’s on a night like tonight, Ray?’

In the most serious of tones, Ray replied, ‘A reservation.’

‘What – no gift?’ Frank looked about him, leading a round of general laughter.

Ray thought it was quite pathetic how these people all hung around and laughed on cue at Frankie’s attempts at humor. OK, so Fraser and Huey and Louie might none of them be the easiest guys to have as friends, but at least Ray knew where he stood with them. He relied on the fact they’d always be straight with him, at least when it mattered – but Frank Zuko wasn’t the type to appreciate those qualities in a friend.

And that was when she arrived, in the midst of this burst of falsely flattering laughter, while Ray mused over the nature of friendship – _she_ arrived. And gracefully took her place sitting next to Frank Zuko. All the while watching Ray with a small smile on her face, that tiny mysterious knowing smile of hers.

He remembered back to when he’d first seen her. Well, Ray had always known who she was, of course, and dismissed her accordingly as Frank’s little sister. But then there had been a school dance, and she’d been there dressed real sweet in blue velvet, and Ray had realized how much growing she’d done lately, and that was the first time he’d really _seen_ her.

Irene Zuko. Tonight it was blue velvet again, though svelte now rather than sweet. And she was as beautiful as she’d ever been, if not more so. The years and the mileage had been far kinder to her than they’d been to Ray Vecchio.

Realizing he was watching her, too, and that wasn’t necessarily the wisest thing he could do right at this moment, Ray lifted a hand to briefly worry at his lower lip. ‘Look, Frank,’ he said quietly, ‘all I want is my table.’ And Ray finally managed to drag his gaze back to the man he was addressing. ‘All right?’

There was a long pause as Frank considered this request. He looked over at old Charlie, who was sitting at one end of the table. It seemed that Carl Zuko’s former right-hand man had no objection, though Ray noted that Charlie glanced at Irene while he thought about the situation. ‘Hey, Pat,’ Frank finally called to the restaurateur. ‘It’s OK. Get Ray and his buddies a table.’

‘Johnny!’ Pat called in turn. ‘Set up twenty-seven.’

And there was Irene, sitting so calm and poised in the middle of all this – but then she almost always had been poised, even as a teenager. Back then, when Ray had been all tall lanky gawkiness, his limbs suddenly shooting out so lengthy that he didn’t know quite what to do with them all. Dancing classes at school with Irene had helped him learn a little of her grace.

Belatedly hearing Pat’s order, Ray at last turned away from the Zuko table and walked over to the man. ‘Hey, come on, Pat,’ Ray said, quiet and reasonable. ‘Look, twenty-seven’s in a side room, right? This was going to be a special night for me.’

‘Ray, please…’ the poor fellow murmured.

‘Hey, Ray,’ Frankie called out. ‘You want to be close by? You want to be in the thick of the party? Maybe you want to sit on my lap?’ And the son of the mobster beckoned Ray to the lap in question, generating more sycophantic laughter at the cop’s expense.

Oh yeah, Ray thought, Frankie was always a real funny guy, a real class act. Ray looked over, expression dry – and his attention was caught by Irene with her enigmatic little smile again, even as he insulted her brother. ‘No, thanks anyway, Frank. Your cheap cologne is giving me a headache from here.’

And Ray was pleased to note that Frankie’s face finally lost its amiability. With that petty and bitter triumph, Ray let Pat lead him and his friends off into the next room, where they were shown to table twenty-seven. So much, Ray thought again, for his own damned celebrations.

♦


	2. Two

♦

Benton Fraser sat there with his three rather morose companions. They were alone in a small area off the restaurant’s main room, at a table laid especially for them. Unfortunately the other tables in the area all had their chairs stacked seat-down on top of them, already packed up for the night or perhaps remaining packed from the previous day’s business – which did not help ease the atmosphere. It was clear that no one else in the restaurant wanted the group of law enforcement officers to be here.

There was a large opening in the wall between this area and the main room, enabling Ray to stare moodily out at the Zuko table, where Frank sat next to a rather attractive and composed woman of about his own age. Never having met her, Fraser speculated on whether this was Frank Zuko’s wife. She didn’t seem to quite fit in with all the loud and overly animated good spirits surrounding her, though she didn’t appear to be unhappy.

Really, the wall-opening provided far too good a view of the Zuko table, despite the profusion of plants that decorated the place and provided some screening. This view made it impossible for Fraser’s companions to forget about the other patrons, and though Fraser endeavored to distract them, the Mountie had never been good at small talk – at least, not when it came to friends rather than acquaintances, and under pressure such as this – he’d never managed to develop that knack.

Perhaps he could try talking about a recent case they’d all been involved in. ‘I’m glad that we managed to quickly resolve the bank robbery and recover the stolen money,’ Fraser tried. ‘Do you recall that we were also investigating a bank robbery last Christmas?’

Though he sounded uninterested, Gardino said, ‘How else do you cope with all the bills and expenses of the festive season? I should have thought of doing that myself.’

‘Do you have a large family to buy presents for, Louis?’

‘Yeah – my own, and three sets of in-laws. You know, I managed to divorce each of my wives, but my in-laws never let me go. A man really should be allowed to divorce his wives’ families, too.’

Fraser offered him a smile. ‘No doubt they were all fond of you.’

‘Fond of my alimony payments,’ the man muttered darkly.

Deciding to let that one go, Fraser cast about him for inspiration. Eventually recalling why the four of them were here, he said, ‘I do believe you were long overdue for a promotion, Ray, but I wonder which case it was that did the trick. What was it that prompted the Commander to finally direct her attention your way?’

‘I don’t know, Fraser,’ Ray said tiredly, rubbing a hand over his shorn hair. ‘What do you reckon?’

‘It could have been any number of cases,’ Fraser said. ‘You have done a great deal of good work lately.’ But he didn’t continue, for it was obvious that none of the Mountie’s companions were in the mood to discuss work.

With a barely suppressed sigh, Fraser followed Ray’s gaze over to the main table. Almost as soon as they’d walked into the restaurant, Fraser had recognized Charlie sitting there with Frank Zuko. And Charlie was the man who, on Zuko’s orders, had tried to kill Fraser the last time they’d encountered each other – if it wasn’t for Ray arriving in time, perhaps Charlie would have succeeded. Knowing that Ray also recognized the man, Fraser carefully didn’t say anything. There was no point in exacerbating the situation by raising past grievances.

Charlie had been called over to Zuko now, and was standing there, leaning down to talk to his boss. And then apparently Charlie was sent off on a task.

Frank himself got up and began wandering from guest to guest, chatting and joking with them in a friendly manner. All the while, however, Zuko kept staring back at Ray. The continuing provocation between the son of the mobster and the Detective must be deliberate. Fraser wondered what either man expected to gain from this mutual annoyance.

Apparently Charlie’s task involved one or more of the law enforcement officers, for the man had walked through all the people gathered in the main room, past the bar area, and now finally made his way into the side room. Almost before he’d reached their table, Ray asked in the hardest of tones, ‘What do you want, Charlie?’

‘Mr. Zuko wants to say hello,’ the man said.

Ray and Fraser looked at each other – Fraser wondering if he had any chance of dissuading Ray from having anything more to do with Zuko, and surmising that he had no chance at all.

‘He wants to say hello to the Mountie,’ Charlie added.

Although Ray essayed a brief double-take, the cop seemed resigned rather than surprised at Fraser being summonsed rather than Ray himself. ‘What, he can’t wait?’ Ray asked. ‘We have all evening to get around to doing this.’

‘Why the Mountie?’ Louis asked Charlie.

‘Oh,’ Ray cut in before Charlie could reply, ‘Frankie likes doing just what he wants for his own silly reasons – and if it involves ordering people around, so much the better.’

After a brief and silent consideration, Fraser slowly stood. He didn’t like any of this difficult situation, but he decided to accede to Zuko’s request rather than refuse and risk increasing the tension. With a nod at Ray, Fraser led Charlie out of the side room.

Ray Vecchio sat there watching Huey despondently munch his way through a bread stick. The four of them hadn’t ordered – they hadn’t even been given menus yet, and with all these people here the kitchen was going to be completely backed up. Pat really should be treating his customers better than this.

‘We’re never going to eat,’ Louis observed. ‘We’re never going to eat.’

There were sighs all round. So much for first class all the way, thought Ray. He had the sourest taste in his mouth, and probably wouldn’t even enjoy his food when it did arrive. _If_ they ever ordered and _if_ it ever arrived.

Zuko was out there on the floor mingling with his family and friends, his employees and hangers-on, and watching the cops watching him. There was a man wandering around at Frank’s shoulder, another guy who Ray vaguely recognized from their school days. A really large guy, though he appeared docile and stupid – Ray wondered what Zuko employed him for… Jim, the man’s name was Jim something.

Ray looked away with a sigh rather than meet Frank’s dark gaze yet again. What a disaster of an evening.

♦

Frank Zuko was socializing with a group of people sitting near the main table, all of them full of good cheer. He straightened up as Fraser walked over to him, and placed a familiar hand on the Mountie’s sleeve to claim his attention. ‘It’s Constable Fraser, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m so glad you could be here with me tonight,’ Zuko said, beaming happily. He was apparently determined to pretend Fraser was an invited guest – and Fraser feared that if Zuko deigned to treat Ray that way there would be trouble. ‘What a shindig!’ the man continued. ‘And it’s only my thirty-fourth birthday. You’ve got to wonder how much fuss everyone’s going to make for my thirty-fifth, right?’

‘Yes.’

Zuko indicated Fraser’s face, and observed, ‘It looks like the scars have healed quite nicely.’

Lifting his brow in surprise, Fraser said, ‘I beg your pardon?’

Maintaining direct eye contact, Zuko said, ‘Ah, I mean, I’m sorry about what happened. Sometimes the boys get a little carried away. I know you got hurt pretty badly.’

Apart from the personal considerations here, the man was admitting to complicity in a felony. Fraser recalled their last encounter, when Zuko had been quite open about his attempts to bribe the Mountie. The man was incorrigible.

‘Blood on the tracks,’ said Zuko, dismissing the incident. With a grin, he amended that to, ‘Water under the bridge?’ and he offered Fraser his right hand.

Well, Fraser would not be forced into acknowledging what had happened, because that would also mean an admission that Fraser had been, and still was, powerless to do anything about it. So, as he shook Zuko’s hand, Fraser declared, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

Completely unfazed, Zuko laughed and patted Fraser on the chest. ‘You know, the offer’s still open – I think you and Ray should join my basketball team. There’s no reason we can’t all be friends.’

‘Oh, I think there are a few rather good reasons,’ Fraser responded in the easiest of tones.

But Zuko was absolutely determined not to take offence. ‘Come over here,’ he said, ‘I want you to meet some people.’ And he led Fraser over to a large man, who seemed eager to do anything Zuko bade him to. ‘Hey, Jimmy, come here, I want you to meet somebody. My boyhood friend, Jimmy Roastbeef – Constable Fraser.’

The two of them shook hands. ‘How are you doing?’ the larger man said, his manner good-natured. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’

‘Likewise, Mr. Roastbeef.’ Curious, Fraser asked, ‘Is that a given name or a family name?’

‘Yeah, sure, a given name.’ Jimmy sounded terribly uncertain about something.

Frank Zuko laughed loudly, obviously in high spirits, which did not bode at all well. And then Zuko noticed some new arrivals coming into the restaurant. Walking over to greet these guests, he called out, ‘Hey! Where have you been?’

Four men were winding their way through all the obstacles over to the main table. The man in the lead spoke quietly as he reached Zuko and shook his hand – ‘Sorry, Frank. I was just keeping an eye on things.’

‘Keeping an eye on things,’ Zuko muttered with mock impatience, as he brought the man over to where Fraser and Jimmy Roastbeef stood waiting. ‘You drive me crazy, always keeping an eye on things.’ Zuko said, ‘Let me introduce you to somebody. This is my good friend and business associate, Michael Sorrento – Constable Fraser.’

Michael Sorrento had worn a consistently polite smile throughout all of Zuko’s fuss, though he was obviously curious about what a Mountie was doing here.

‘My pleasure,’ Fraser said, shaking hands again.

‘How are you doing?’ Sorrento responded, his cool gaze running an assessment over Fraser. But then, without indicating his conclusions about the Mountie, Sorrento turned to Zuko and handed him a present flashily wrapped in silver paper. ‘Here you are, Frank. Open it now.’

Zuko laughed his pleasure. ‘Michael… You shouldn’t have.’

Though Fraser suspected from Zuko’s demeanor that these presents and other offerings were expected, despite the man’s disclaimer. Turning to rest the present on the main table, Zuko began tearing at the paper, enjoying this as much as any ten-year-old would.

As Zuko did so, Fraser took the opportunity to again study the beautiful woman sitting there across the table from him, next to Frank’s seat. It appeared that Fraser would not be introduced even now, however, because the woman’s attention was soon drawn by something or somebody somewhere else – she stood, and headed away from the table, moving with an unselfconscious rhythm.

Returning his own attention to Frank Zuko, Fraser saw that the silver paper had been torn away from a large wooden box – which was opened to reveal a quantity of cigars. Zuko lifted the box with some reverence. ‘My favorites,’ he announced, apparently delighted that his tastes had been remembered. Proffering the box to Fraser, he said, ‘Constable, would you care for as cigar?’

‘No, thank you,’ Fraser said, ‘I don’t smoke.’

‘Ah, your loss. Jimmy?’

Mr. Roastbeef took one with alacrity. ‘Thank you, Mr. Zuko.’

‘Michael?’ Zuko asked.

Mr. Sorrento also took a cigar. ‘You certainly appreciate quality, Frank,’ he observed.

‘That I do,’ Zuko agreed with great self-satisfaction. He also took a cigar, before putting the box down on the table, and he again thanked Sorrento for the gift. Then he asked, ‘So, what were you keeping an eye on, Michael? What could be so damned important on my birthday?’

As Sorrento demurred from discussing business in front of a Mountie, Fraser indulged himself in a silent sigh, and began the process of politely extricating himself from the situation.

♦

Ray Vecchio had the bottle of wine he’d ordered for his friends, a good Italian red wine as befitted the occasion this should have been – but the bottle hadn’t been opened yet, and they had no glasses at their table. This really was ridiculous. The best restaurant in the world, Ray had boasted, and he knew what he was talking about when it came to Italian food. He’d wanted to impress his friends with this place, but they couldn’t get any kind of decent service out of the waiters. If Pat was hoping the four of them would give up and leave, the guy would soon find himself grossly disappointed.

In despair, Ray took the bottle of wine with him over to the bar. There was no attendant there, so he leaned across to look around for a corkscrew. Nothing. Determined to succeed at least in this one small thing, Ray headed down to the far end of the serving area, lifted the flap and opened the waist-high door, then headed around behind the bar in order to continue his quest. It was while he was bent in half, searching in vain under the bar, that he heard the most beautiful and the most ominous of voices.

‘What’s the matter – can’t you say hello?’ Challenging though friendly tones, as if she deserved better than being ignored. As indeed she did.

Ray lifted his head oh-so-slowly to see Irene Zuko standing there, one elbow propped up on the bar so that her lovely shoulders were canted in a half-shrug. His gaze crept all the way up to her beautiful face – and then to his amusement and dismay he found himself looking back down at her breasts, which were in Ray’s opinion the best of traditional feminine attributes. These breasts, in particular, were displayed to great advantage by the snug blue velvet of Irene’s dress. Ah, thought Ray, he had a few fond memories stirred by that sight…

But she deserved better than being ogled, too, although it wouldn’t be right to ignore the fact that Ray and Irene had a history.

Meeting her gaze directly again, Ray knew he must be looking like a complete idiot – for he was smiling kind of happy and sheepish and very wary all at once. ‘Hi,’ Ray finally said. He slowly stood up, trying to slip his hands out of the way and into his suit jacket’s pockets, but missing them entirely. He tried for his trouser pockets, and got them on the second shot.

And all the while, Irene was treating Ray to the full force of her wise and amused smile, waiting for something more from him – and then she prompted, ‘Irene.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ he said softly, wondering if he was afraid to say the name. Looking at her – her finely boned face with its pointed chin, her blue eyes only slightly lighter than the dark velvet, the pale milky skin of her shoulders and arms and… breasts. Very nice. Her dark hair was cut so that it shaped her face and curved feathering around her neck, and Ray discovered that he wanted to run his hand against her fine skin under the silky strands, and kiss the pulse in her throat –

Oh, this was dangerous, given who she was and who he was.

Ray shook his head to cast off the spell. Then he bent down to continue with his search, clapping his hands together once and wringing them – back to business.

Refusing to be dismissed, she asked, ‘What are you looking for?’

Holding one hand up, palm out to ward her away, he said, ‘I got it.’

‘It doesn’t look like you got it,’ Irene retorted with a laugh.

‘I got it!’ Ray insisted, knowing he was being silly. But it seemed he’d been blinded by the sight of her, for he couldn’t make out what he was looking at under the bar, and could barely even remember what it was that he’d needed.

Irene laughed happily. ‘What are you looking for?’ she asked again.

They must both know this was silly – but no doubt a certain nervousness was only to be expected, remembering all they’d shared and all they’d lost. Irene came around the end of the bar to join him there in that narrow space. She was grinning now, Ray could see that out of the corner of his eye, she was grinning broadly.

‘How’s your mom doing?’ Irene asked.

Ray straightened up and stood there like a moron, trying to think of an answer. ‘Oh, Ma is, er… she’s good!’

‘Good.’

Touched that Irene had bothered asking, he repeated, ‘Yeah, she’s good. And how’s, er…’ For a long moment Ray honestly couldn’t recall the guy’s name, but even once he did remember Ray asked, ‘How’s what’s-his-name?’ And he knew his tone was serious, beyond pleasantries already.

It seemed that Irene had guessed what Ray was after – for she had already found the corkscrew, and now handed it over.

‘Yeah,’ Ray murmured, slipping it into his trouser pocket. ‘That’s what I was looking for.’

Very matter-of-factly, Irene announced, ‘Actually, we split up.’

‘Oh!’ It was a wonder Ray hadn’t heard this already – usually news travelled faster than that round the neighborhood. He decided to be real cool about the whole thing, and give her the truth. ‘Well, it’s about time.’ And he reached up to where the wineglasses were hanging.

Irene grinned, barely stifling a laugh, and she said, ‘Yeah.’

Ray was grinning, too, glad that she still appreciated their old brand of in-your-face humor. However, sliding a glass off its tracks, Ray added with genuine feeling, ‘What I really mean is, I’m sorry. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you.’

‘I’m not sorry,’ Irene replied very seriously. ‘It’s really… it really is good to be home.’

‘Are you staying at Frank’s house?’

The question hung there between them for a moment, meaning more than anyone else might understand. For if she said yes, then Irene was under Frank’s sway again, and she was outside Ray’s jurisdiction. Ray put the glass down on the bar.

At last Irene said, ‘My father left the house to both of us.’

Pulling down a second glass, Ray murmured thoughtfully, ‘That’s right, I remember now.’ He had thought it odd at the time, for Carl Zuko had never treated his two children as equals or partners in any other way.

‘So it seemed like the obvious place to be.’

‘Sure.’ Ray placed a third glass by the others, and straightened up. Hands stuffed deep into his jacket pockets, the cop contemplated the glasses, and let out a very heavy sigh. Ray could really do with a drink right now, and he was fairly sure he could talk the Mountie into also having one, given the occasion they were meant to be celebrating. ‘Four,’ Ray said absently, reaching for another glass. ‘There’s four of us.’

‘I was wondering…’ Irene began.

‘Always dangerous,’ Ray commented.

‘…if you’d introduce me to your friends.’

He looked at her, touched that she would want to meet them. And, to be honest, he’d be proud as hell to show this beautiful woman off to Fraser and Huey and Louie. The most beautiful woman in the whole damned room. ‘I’d like that,’ Ray said. ‘But maybe a little later? Things have been a bit rough, none of us are in the best of moods right now.’

She smiled understandingly, no doubt reading between his tactful lines. ‘After a glass of wine, perhaps? After your first course?’

‘Yeah, that would be great. I guess you’d better come over to us,’ he suggested with a shrug. Dear God, she was lovely and smart and everything that was good. Casting about for a topic to keep her there with him, Ray at last asked, ‘Ah… how are your kids?’

‘They’re fine – well, they’re wonderful, actually, but every parent says that, don’t they? They’re here with me.’ Irene leaned in close for a moment, her manner easy and confiding. ‘You know, you were always so good with kids, Ray. You’d be a great father.’ And she let out a happy chuckle, before turning away and beginning to walk out from behind the bar.

Oh my, Ray thought, was that a proposal? ‘Well, what can I say?’ he quickly called after her. ‘I’m one hell of a catch.’

She walked past on the other side of the bar, not even glancing back at him. ‘Yeah, sure,’ she responded coolly. ‘Too bad you can’t dance.’

Ah, such a tease. Ray watched her go, a silly smile on his face and his brow lifted high. Wondering if it could be at all possible for him to become as besotted with her now as he had been back when he was eighteen.

♦

Outside the restaurant, Diefenbaker waited obediently, wondering if the humans had been thoughtless enough to forget all about the fifth member of their party. But at last Dief spotted a waiter approaching the front door with a plate in his hand. What would it be? Something meaty, with pasta, Diefenbaker hoped – perhaps something as good as the riches to be found in Ma Vecchio’s kitchen.

The waiter pushed open the door, and with a suitable flourish he put the plate down on the snowy sidewalk in front of the wolf.

It was – unbelievably – a green salad. A paltry little arrangement of ten types of lettuce. Wonderful.

Dief sniffed at it, sniffed around the plate just to confirm that there was nothing hidden under the lettuce, and then the wolf growled with disconsolate resentment. Yeah, this was worse than soup for a growing wolf’s constitution – and _this_ after the humiliating offer of a doggie bag… Really. That was the last time the cop could expect Diefenbaker to take _his_ side in any of the humans’ disagreements.

Turning his back on the salad, Dief trotted off to forage for some real food.

♦

Irene was sitting at another table with Ma Zuko, catching up with some of their many relatives. It was good to have his sister back here in Chicago, Frank reflected, back where she belonged under the family roof. Under Frank’s protection. She hadn’t married an Italian, that was the problem – Italian men knew how to take care of their women. But Irene was home again now, and Frank would make sure that she was looked after.

Feeling rather content, Frank Zuko sat back and surveyed the rest of the party. Everyone was having fun, that was great. Everyone, at least, other than the cops stuck away in the side room, and Michael Sorrento. It seemed that, with the Zuko women safely out of the way, Michael wanted to talk business – though all Frank wanted to do right now was enjoy another of his cigars.

Wearing his fretfully earnest expression, Michael was making his way around the main table, bringing Charlie with him, and then sitting beside Frank. Charlie stood there behind the two younger men, a hand leaning heavily on the back of each chair, so that they could confer.

‘I love these cigars,’ Frank said easily, hauling over the box that Michael had given him. It was already somewhat depleted. ‘Here, have one, both of you.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Zuko,’ Charlie said in his rough voice.

‘Thanks, Frank.’

‘No – thank _you_. This was a great present.’ And then, with some patience, Zuko asked, ‘What’s bothering you, Michael?’

The man took a moment, looking about him and drawing in a deep breath, as if to gather his thoughts – or, at least, as if to create a suitably serious atmosphere. Finally Michael announced, ‘Those young guns on the West Side may be more of a problem than we thought.’

‘Those punks,’ Charlie interjected – ‘I’ve never heard of them. Nobody’s ever heard of them.’

‘Yeah, you’d better tell _them_ that,’ Michael retorted.

‘I would, if they ever had the nerve to show their faces.’

Michael had snipped off the end of his cigar with the cutter that Frank had given him – Frank now handed Michael his own cigar, and Michael prepared it the same way. ‘Well,’ the man continued, ‘they’ve got plenty of nerve. They busted up another one of our places this evening – busted it up bad.’

Frank shrugged off this trouble. ‘I’ve got other priorities tonight.’

But the fellow was so concerned over this that he didn’t hear his boss’s intent. Michael leaned in closer to speak confidentially, though if anyone could hear them talking over the band’s music, then Zuko wished them the best of luck. ‘You can’t sit on this any longer, Frank, you can’t pretend it doesn’t matter. People are starting to talk. And you know how much comes down to perceptions, we don’t want people getting the wrong idea about you. If we let this go on any longer, I’m worried that we’ll end up with a problem we can’t handle –’

‘Michael!’ Interrupting him, Zuko rested a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘I appreciate your devotion to duty, believe me, but let me handle the Dorrio brothers, all right?’

‘Frank, I don’t think you understand –’

‘Of course I understand, Michael, don’t make me mad at you.’

‘I didn’t mean –’

‘I know, I know.’ Zuko smiled at him, shook him gently. ‘But I don’t want to hear any more about it right now, you’re going to spoil the party. Come on,’ he cajoled, ‘it’s my birthday. Do what you like on your own birthday, Michael, but on mine you’ve got to have fun, all right?’

Sorrento seemed unconvinced.

‘Just relax, you’ve got to learn to relax a little. This will keep.’ Zuko dug around in his pockets and found his lighter, then shifted closer to light Michael’s cigar.

‘I don’t know, Frank.’

‘Stop!’ Zuko reached up to light Charlie’s cigar. ‘I’m telling you it will keep until tomorrow, all right?’

‘All right,’ Michael grudgingly agreed.

Frank let out a laugh – he really couldn’t complain about all of this serious enthusiasm for taking care of Frank Zuko’s interests. ‘Look, Michael, you come over to the house at ten tomorrow morning. Then you and me and Charlie, we’ll talk it over, we’ll work something out. All right?’

‘All right,’ Michael repeated, at last a little happier.

‘Ah, you drive me crazy,’ Frank grumbled good-naturedly, and his companions chuckled. Lighting his own cigar, Zuko sat back and looked over to where Ray Vecchio sat. The small party of cops were all looking thoroughly miserable, Frank was pleased to note. Ah, this was really turning out to be a great evening.

♦

Benton Fraser offered a grateful smile to the waiter as he belatedly cleared the last of their plates away. The four police officers were done eating their main course almost thirty minutes ago – however, none of them had been in the mood to fully appreciate the food, and sitting there for so long with the used plates and half-finished meals simply added insult to injury.

‘Bring us the dessert menu, would you,’ Ray said once the waiter was done. ‘And another bottle of wine.’

The waiter nodded perfunctorily, and whisked from the room.

Fraser tilted his head towards his friend, and said, ‘I thought you didn’t drink.’

‘Yeah, I guess I don’t usually,’ Ray said, apparently uncomfortable at being reminded of his sober habits. ‘But when I’m celebrating, I sometimes have a glass or two of _vino_. There’s no harm in that.’

‘Well, I believe you have already had two glasses.’

‘So who’s counting?’ the man retorted with some annoyance.

‘I am, Ray. Tonight, in this company, it doesn’t seem wise to –’

‘Ah,’ the cop said, interrupting the Mountie, ‘to hell with being wise.’

Fraser gave up for the moment, understanding Ray’s resentment over his fine plans for the evening going awry. There was a difficult silence, which none of Fraser’s companions seemed willing to ease.

And then, as a waiter in the main room passed within hailing distance, Ray held out his detective’s shield and yelled over the endless music, ‘You see this? This comes with a gun. _Now_ do we get dessert?’

‘Good one, Ray,’ Gardino commented, and the Mountie couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

The waiter had paused to hear Ray’s request, though he was obviously busy – with plates in hand, the waiter was already heading off to one of the tables occupied by the Zuko party.

‘Forget it,’ said Huey, ‘I’ll go collect some menus. What’s the manager’s name? Pat?’

Louis responded, ‘Yeah, it’s Pat. And get me an espresso while you’re at it, will you?’

Even though Huey had already left the room on this mission, Fraser thought it worthwhile to suggest, ‘Maybe we could go somewhere else for coffee. We could treat this as a progressive dinner.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Louis.

‘Where we progress to the next course in a different restaurant.’

‘A _restaurant_ crawl?’ Gardino laughed, though it wasn’t a happy sound. ‘Only in Canada.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Ray commented absently, even though it seemed he was paying his friends little attention – for he was continuing to glare across the main room at Frank Zuko. ‘I bet it’s all the rage for a night out in downtown Inuvik.’

‘Actually, Ray, when I lived in Inuvik there was only one place to eat, so that couldn’t have been where the custom originated.’

Unfortunately this failed to distract Ray from staring at the man who was the cop’s chosen enemy. Ray’s anger was becoming more and more evident, and was currently being exacerbated by Zuko’s loud laughter. ‘Look at that scum. We get the side room,’ Ray observed, ‘and he gets the whole joint. He drinks hundred-dollar bottles of wine, and we get spit. His every wish is Pat’s command, and we get sent to Coventry.’

Perhaps Zuko was aware of his audience, for the man laughed loudly again, making it more than obvious he was having a fine time. He held a large cigar in one hand, and a tiny cup of espresso in the other.

‘Who’s that jerk sitting next to him?’ Ray asked.

‘Ah, yes,’ Fraser quickly replied, glad to be able to contribute something to the conversation, ‘we were introduced. His name is Michael Sorrento. I believe he works for Zuko.’

‘Sycophant,’ Ray said dismissively. ‘Look at them! You know, Frankie still runs this neighborhood, Frankie still calls all the damned shots. I should have done something about that.’

‘You did, Ray.’

‘I didn’t do enough. Ah,’ the cop murmured with some yearning, ‘what I wouldn’t give to go another round with him.’

Fraser suggested, ‘Perhaps we should just skip dessert and coffee altogether, and go bowling.’

‘Oh, what the hell,’ Ray announced grimly, ignoring Fraser entirely. ‘I’m going to go shake his peaches.’

Fraser watched his friend stand from the table and leave the relative safety of their side room. Fearing Ray’s intentions, Fraser nevertheless felt powerless to divert the man from them.

There was a quiet moment as the band finished yet another piece of music. Frank Zuko cried out, ‘Hey, Pat, why don’t you sing me a song for my birthday?’

Left there alone with Louis, Fraser leaned forward to ask, ‘Shake his peaches? What does that mean?’

‘Yeah,’ Gardino replied. His tone was dryly humorous, though the man couldn’t hide the fact that he was worried. ‘Yeah, this is the part where we break chairs over their heads.’

‘Ah.’ Fraser sat back, wondering if he had any chance of preventing a brawl, and surmising that he probably had none. ‘Ah,’ he said again, not even feeling up to an, ‘Oh dear.’

♦

Righteous fury, that’s what Ray Vecchio was feeling in relation to Frank Zuko right now. All right, so Ray and his friends had finally eaten, but the food and the shoddy service was all too little too late, especially when compared to the tributes Frank received.

Irene hadn’t come over, which Ray couldn’t really blame her for, as it was no doubt rather obvious that Ray was angry with her brother. Which meant that Frank had taken even that away from them – taken away this chance to socialize, this opportunity for Irene to meet Ray’s friends.

Ah, seeing her again after all these years, it had stirred him. Seeing her, talking with her, being laughed at and teased by her. Stirring, yes. Stimulating enough to have Ray figuring he must have been living half asleep. Provoking enough to make Ray wonder whether there was any chance of him and Irene having a future as well as a history…

And the neat thing about this situation was that there was a way of doing something about both the fury with Frank and the hope for Irene.

Ray deliberately walked through the main room, heading for the smaller table where Irene Zuko sat with her mother. He may as well do this right. Irene deserved it, after all. Ray may as well make his intentions clear. Frank hadn’t seen Ray yet, but he would, and that was fine, for that was the other half of the plan.

Reaching the table where the women were quietly chatting, Ray bent down to talk to Irene’s mother. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Zuko,’ he said, playing the good Italian boy for all he was worth. ‘May I say how lovely you’re looking this evening?’

She smiled up at Ray, perhaps remembering him from twenty years ago, perhaps not. ‘ _Grazie_ ,’ she murmured, accepting his compliment as regally as Ma Vecchio would have done in a similar situation.

Ray nodded, and then turned away, standing tall and at-ease to address Irene. ‘Would you like to dance?’

She looked up at him from where she sat composed, contemplating Ray with that tiny oh-so-amused smile on her face. A moment stretched. It seemed that Irene intended to give Ray a hard time, as if she hadn’t provoked this in the first place. At last she asked, ‘With you?’

‘No, with the man in the moon,’ he said, fondly teasing her. Then, ‘Oh, of _course_ with me,’ Ray grumbled, letting her win that one.

Another moment, as Irene glanced over to where Ray knew Frank was sitting. Her brother was still laughing loudly, and talking with Michael Sorrento whoever the hell he was, and smoking the most obnoxious cigars.

‘Yes,’ Irene finally said, and she gave Ray her right hand.

Pleased at having won Irene’s agreement, Ray indulged himself with a glance at Frank – the son of the mobster still hadn’t noticed what the cop was doing.

There were a few couples slowly waltzing around the restaurant’s small dance floor, enough to crowd it, and Pat was up there in front of the band singing _My Foolish Heart_ … How apt, thought Ray. Holding Irene’s cool hand in his, Ray led her out onto the floor.

Once they’d found enough elbow room, Ray drew her into his arms – and the two of them fit together as perfectly as ever.

‘You always did like to take chances,’ Irene said.

Knowing that he was grinning like the happiest of idiots, Ray let his gaze rove downwards for a moment. ‘And you always looked so damned good in blue velvet.’

‘So you do remember,’ she murmured.

‘Yeah, I remember. You know very well that I remember.’

And that was when Ray finally caught her brother’s gaze. Frank was still sitting there at the main table, and couples kept spinning through their line of sight, but the two men maintained eye contact as best they could. Ray let his expression become deadly serious, challenging Frank to make something of it – while Zuko appeared to be having trouble believing the incredible effrontery he was witnessing.

Irene, of course, noticed Ray’s distraction, and she issued her own challenge. ‘Who are you dancing with – him or me?’

Ray turned his attention back to her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You know very well what I mean.’ She had no trouble in holding Ray’s gaze. It seemed that Irene understood, and would forgive him, but that she wasn’t prepared to muck around.

OK, she’s right again, Ray belatedly thought. She deserves better than this.

But he hadn’t responded quickly enough. Irene smiled ruefully, and shook her head, and tried to disengage from Ray’s embrace. ‘I can’t do this.’

Ray refused to let her go. Letting his hands fall to clasp her slim velvet-covered hips, he murmured, ‘Hey, hey, hey. Don’t go away.’ She stilled. ‘Come on,’ Ray said softly, taking her right hand again and lifting it to his shoulder. He reluctantly shifted his other hand to where it should be, resting in the small of her back. Which was plenty nice enough. ‘Come on.’ And they were waltzing again.

Frank was still watching of course. Ray and Irene were dancing close together now, resting their heads temple against temple, Ray holding their clasped hands against his shoulder. Nevertheless, Ray was still staring back at Frank. For the moment, at least. The cop was pleased to note that the son of the mobster was getting rather irate.

Enough of that. Or perhaps it was time to inflame Frank further.

Ray leaned back a little so he could face Irene again, though he strengthened his hold around her so that they remained in blessed contact, waist to waist. Stirring. Lifting a hand, Ray stroked her dark hair, watching her beautiful face as she in turn watched him. And then Ray gave in to his previous impulse, and slid his hand around her throat, palm against her strong pulse and fingers gently massaging her nape. It was the most delightful thing he’d done for a long long time.

‘Did my heart love till now?’ Ray murmured. ‘Forswear it, sight; For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.’

That first time Ray had seen Irene, sweet in blue velvet at the school dance, it had been so easy to create an impression. He just strode up to her looking suitably determined, asked her to dance before anyone else could, and quoted Romeo’s words from when he’d first seen Juliet. Lucky it happened to be the play they were doing in English Lit that term. And Irene had smiled at Ray graciously, more composed than any other girl there, and certainly cooler and more controlled than any of the boys.

There had been a mystery about her that Ray found compelling. Later, when he’d figured out what her secret was, he simply loved her all the more for it.

This had been about four years after Frank Zuko had rearranged poor Marco Matrani’s face with a basketball, four years since Ray and Frank had changed from boyhood friends to mortal enemies. Frank had been there at the school dance, of course. And he had stared at Ray’s effrontery, furious.

‘You are more beautiful than ever,’ Ray added now, whispering to her while Pat warbled on about the foolishness of love.

‘Thank you,’ Irene said, apparently glad that he thought so.

Ray was smiling, so broad a smile that he shouldn’t have been able to kiss her – but he did. With his hands on her bare shoulders, and her arms slipping down around his waist, they drew close together. It was a charmingly mutual thing. And there was nothing and no one else for those moments, nothing and no one but for the music and Ray and Irene.

It wasn’t just one full-blooded kiss, though it could have been – rather, they indulged in a series of kisses, teasing each other, tasting and tentatively exploring. Letting themselves slowly remember what it had been like to be in love, recapturing that feeling with their hearts and minds, bodies and souls.

Caressing her shoulders, and then running his palms over blue velvet, Ray began deepening their kiss. Because, once he was sure that they’d remembered the past, he wanted to bring it all forward to the here and now. He lifted his hands to tenderly cup Irene’s face, and Ray kissed her for the first time as an adult.

‘Irene!’

The kiss, the moment was broken. Irene had flinched in fear, and drawn back, though Ray once again refused to actually let her go. Her head was turned away now, of course, and she stared in trepidation towards the main table. Trying to reassure her with his arms’ embrace, Ray discovered that her hands were no-doubt-unconsciously clutching at his suit.

It was Michael Sorrento who had called her, from the far side of the dance floor. He was approaching them now, his expression managing to be both urbane and deadly all at once. This guy, Ray figured, is a snake.

Sorrento was there with them now, standing almost as close to Ray and Irene as they were to each other. Yeah right, thought Ray – as if his message could possibly be confidential now, after he’d yelled out her name from halfway across the room. Sorrento said to Irene, ‘Your brother would like you to cut the cake.’

Ray still didn’t let Irene go. He glanced across to see Frank standing at the edge of the dance floor, glaring as if he was ready to burst from the fury of it all. ‘Sure,’ Ray said quietly, ‘that’s a nice idea, but we’re busy. Tell him to cut it himself.’

And, dismissing Sorrento, Ray looked back at Irene, tilting his head to try to recapture her gaze. Waiting for the slightest encouragement for her, the barest sign that she would choose Ray over Frank, waiting for the most minimal indication of her preferences – and then Ray would waltz her all around the dance floor, and kiss her again. Hell, he’d escort her out to the Riviera and drive down to St Michael’s right now, who cared what the time was, and beg Father Behan to begin reading the banns…

‘Irene!’

It was Frank himself this time. He was standing by the main table, expressing his intentions very firmly and clearly, his face dark. And Irene hadn’t even so much as glanced back at Ray since Sorrento had first interrupted them.

‘ _Now_. Let’s go.’

And everyone in the whole damned restaurant heard Zuko, because the song had finished.

Irene obediently pulled out of Ray’s embrace, leaving his arms cold and empty. She looked back at him, but it was only to suggest, ‘Why don’t you go, Ray? I think it’s best if you go now.’

Sorrento prevented Ray from following her, by slinging a far-too-friendly arm round Ray’s shoulders. ‘Yes, perhaps you should leave,’ he suggested.

‘Hey,’ Ray said irritably, shrugging the scumbag off. ‘I can leave on my own.’

And at that moment he honestly intended to go, figuring he’d done more than enough to annoy the hell out of Frankie and start things rolling with Irene. The band struck up some rambunctiously cheerful music.

But before Ray was two steps away from him, Michael Sorrento said, ‘Pig.’ And without even giving it a first thought let alone a second, Ray turned, bringing his right arm up and around – and he slugged the guy in the face.

♦

The fight was on. If the music was intended to distract, it was a dismal failure, for it sounded more like an incitement to riot.

Frankie was hanging back safely out of harm’s way with old Charlie, damn it, when all Ray really wanted to do was use his fists to punish that coward’s face for the broad provoking grin it had worn most of the evening.

The snake Sorrento had dropped to the floor, finished by one punch. Pathetic, really, and perhaps as faint-hearted as his boss.

Someone behind Ray protested, ‘Hey!’ so Ray turned back around and slugged him, too, belatedly realizing that the poor fellow was probably a guest rather than an employee of Frankie’s. Well, Ray reflected, you took your chances when you socialized with the son of a mobster.

Irene was standing there at the edge of the dance floor, watching with frustration and dismay – Ray was relieved when the large guy, Jim whoever-he-was from school, pushed through to get between her and trouble.

‘You and you.’ Frank was giving loud orders to his goons. ‘No guns, OK? But get in there and finish this thing.’

Constable Benton Fraser was making his way through the throng as quickly as possible, keeping an eye on Ray when he could. Ray was still standing, swinging his fists very effectively at anyone who got close to him. Indeed, as Fraser watched, Ray dropped yet another man. That did not mean, however, that Ray would not appreciate his friend’s help – for the law enforcement officers were of course alarmingly out-numbered.

A little kid, who given the company perhaps had dreams of being Al Capone rather than Eliot Ness, hefted an imaginary machine gun and began firing into the crowd. It was a massacre of epic proportions.

Still endeavoring to arrange things to his satisfaction, Frank Zuko cried out, ‘Irene, come on, get back here.’

Irene wasn’t budging, though. Jimmy Roastbeef was being chivalrous, and she didn’t mind using him as a large shield – he was so well-padded that no doubt anything or anyone would just bounce right off him. But he was also trying to move her back out of the way, and she didn’t want to go.

Damn Ray and Frank for this! It was beyond annoying that they’d never grown beyond this boyhood hatred and rivalry, so frustrating that they couldn’t express it in any way other than trouble and violence. So worrying, because she cared a great deal for both of them, and if they hurt each other because of her, or because of their other loyalties and their different vocations – they both seemed cheerfully oblivious to the fact that if they hurt each other, then they would hurt her, too.

She really needed to try to put an end to this.

And so much for Frank’s birthday party. Looking around for a moment, Irene noticed that the bulk of the guests were leaving. They were moving quickly and efficiently, not with any hint of panic. No doubt they were used to this kind of thing going on in Frank Zuko’s neighborhood, no doubt it was only ever a matter of time before a party ended this way.

As Irene turned back to watch her teenage sweetheart demonstrate his fist-fighting skills and his boyish enthusiasms, two young women with immaculate gowns and _coiffures_ were heading towards the front door. ‘That guy broke my nail,’ one complained, holding out her hand for inspection. ‘I paid fifteen dollars for these nails, and now they’re ruined.’

‘Fifteen dollars?’ Her companion exclaimed. Apparently this was a very desirable price. ‘ _Where_? I’ve never paid anything less than twenty.’

Diefenbaker saw his chance, and made his way out of the cold night air and into the restaurant, weaving through the tide of legs. If anyone noticed him, no doubt they assumed the wolf had sensed trouble, and was now loyally coming to the rescue of his human friends.

Meanwhile, Ray swung at another combatant, and the man fell hard to the floor. It was really rather flattering, the number of bodies that were lying around his solid stance. Ray couldn’t help but hope Irene had taken note of his prowess – though he had to admit, now that the immediate anger had pretty much spent itself, Ray’s abusive and abused fists were beginning to complain.

There was Irene, watching Ray from over Jim’s meaty shoulder. She caught Ray’s eye, and seemed to want to communicate something to him – but another man headed towards the cop, and decisively claimed Ray’s attention.

Fraser was almost to the dance floor now, but was being prevented from reaching Ray by a series of men who wanted to hit Fraser for no reason better than that he was a police officer and a friend of Ray’s. The situation was, however, becoming urgent. The Mountie caught a glimpse of Michael Sorrento, where he lay on the floor with a minor cut to his temple – Sorrento was nodding at someone, giving a silent order.

When Fraser managed to follow Sorrento’s line of sight, he discovered a man carrying an open switchblade. Presumably they were intending to use the knife to carry out Zuko’s orders to finish this thing. And unfortunately Ray was unaware of that particular danger.

One last man stood in Fraser’s way – he quickly dealt with him, getting through the fellow’s defenses to plant a left hook to his jaw.

As the man with the switchblade shifted closer to Ray, Fraser came up from behind. ‘Excuse me!’ Fraser said, securing a hold on the man’s arm. ‘I do believe –’ Fraser continued, twisting the man so that he spun head-over-heels to land on his back – ‘that’s an unfair advantage.’ And the Mountie had of course disarmed the fellow in the process.

Fraser was aware that Pat, the manager of the restaurant, was watching the brawl from his place on the band’s stage. He seemed to be begging for peace, or at least for a minimum of damage to the crockery, furniture and fittings. However, Fraser was inclined to view the man’s show of innocent disbelief with a slight dash of cynicism – while it was undeniable that Ray Vecchio and Frank Zuko were the main instigators of this undesirable mayhem, Pat Scarpetta could have done far more to avoid it erupting.

The fighting continued, worsening rather than abating. Fraser downed another man, with a right hook swiftly followed by a left.

The good-natured Jimmy Roastbeef was still protecting Irene, and he was doing a fine job of it. When they discovered that another of the policemen – Jack Huey – had joined in, and was now laying into someone just behind them, Jimmy quickly shepherded Irene off to one side, and she went willingly enough.

Meanwhile, Diefenbaker was enjoying himself for the first time that evening. His human friends were happy, mucking around in a boys’ free-for-all, having a great time of it. They could obviously take care of themselves – and the wolf could take care of himself, too. Diefenbaker leapt up to sit on an empty chair, which was far more comfortable than a cold hard sidewalk, and he began tucking into someone’s abandoned entree. Delicious! This was far more like his original plans for their night’s celebrations.

Ray Vecchio landed a fist in someone’s belly, then finished the guy off with a hit to his face. He spared a moment to wonder how many goons the paranoid and cowardly Zuko employed. Or, Ray asked himself, how many of these men are Frankie’s poor unsuspecting relatives?

Catching Irene’s eye again, Ray took a moment to gaze at her. Not many women managed to retain their beauty when they were that annoyed, Ray reflected. She was hovering there behind Jim’s shoulder, mouthing something at him, but Ray couldn’t quite make it out. ‘What?’ he asked with a frown, enunciating as if he was talking to the deaf wolf.

‘Leave!’ she mouthed more clearly.

Which Ray considered as excellent advice that should be immediately heeded.

But that was when one of Ray’s vanquished took advantage of the cop’s distraction, staggered to his feet – and slugged Ray hard in the mouth. Detective First Grade Raymond Vecchio dropped like the colloquial ton of bricks.

♦


	3. Three

♦

Lieutenant Welsh’s office was a cacophony of self-righteous justifications. Harding Welsh sat there at his desk, gleaning the gist of the sorry story from Detectives Huey, Gardino and Vecchio, who stood in a row in front of the desk all talking at once. The Mountie was standing at-ease against the far wall of the small office – remaining, Welsh noted with gratitude, out of the way and completely quiet. 

Ray Vecchio was developing a defensively offensive theme, elaborating on the many provocations of a situation he really shouldn’t have put himself in in the first place. Louis Gardino’s refrain was a plea for understanding, on the grounds that this kind of thing was going to happen every now and then in this neighborhood, and how could it really matter in the overall scheme of things. Meanwhile, Jack Huey’s mellifluous voice commented in a learned manner on the evidence to hand, refuting and denying and avoiding anything he felt able to. 

The discord rose and occasionally fell in volume, the separate themes sometimes harmonizing and sometimes contradicting but always presenting a common thread of conviction. Until Welsh finally decided that he had gathered all the information he required, and was ready to pass judgement. He raised his hands, complete with a ruler substituting for a baton, and decisively indicated that the performance was over. ‘Enough, enough, enough, enough,’ he said. 

And the chorus at last fell into silence, remaining restless, but content that they had done their best and that Welsh would eventually come round to see it all their way. 

Well, there was only one person here from whom Welsh was going to get an unembroidered story. ‘Constable?’ he appealed. 

Addressing Welsh from over Vecchio’s shoulder, Fraser said, ‘Mr. Zuko’s sister was indeed involved in the situation, Lieutenant.’ 

Vecchio rolled his eyes, apparently expressing a lack of appreciation at this element of the tale being highlighted. ‘Oh great.’ 

Fraser continued, ‘But Mr. Sorrento did start the altercation.’ 

Happier about this observation, Vecchio asked Welsh, ‘What did I tell you?’ 

‘Although I’m afraid that Detective Vecchio provided ample –’ 

Vecchio’s face darkened, and he turned around to cut his friend off. ‘Didn’t I tell you to shut up?’ 

‘Yes, you did.’ And the Mountie obediently closed his mouth. 

‘You’re just confusing the issues, Benny, OK?’ 

Never mind, thought Welsh – he had heard quite enough, and knowing these men as well as he did, he could piece the rest together. After a moment’s quiet he said, ‘Mr. Sorrento charges that Detective Vecchio punched him in the face, causing serious bodily harm.’ 

Vecchio protested this interpretation. ‘It was nothing more than a love-tap.’ 

Fraser was brave enough or rash enough to speak up again. ‘Ray, that’s not entirely true.’ 

‘OK, so I belted him,’ the Detective agreed, before asserting, ‘but he pushed me first.’ 

‘Well, that much is true.’ 

‘He was practically begging me for it.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Welsh said to Fraser. 

Now that it seemed a reasonable and relatively harmless version of events could be agreed upon, Gardino chimed in with, ‘That’s exactly how I saw it, sir.’ 

‘Absolutely,’ Huey added. 

Welsh held a hand up to stop all this rampant harmony. ‘All right, all right, enough.’ And he announced, ‘Mr. Zuko is pressing charges.’ 

_‘What?’_ Huey and Vecchio cried out in disbelief. 

Gardino glanced at Vecchio, before muttering, ‘The son of a bitch.’ 

‘Charges for what?’ Huey asked. 

‘Harassment,’ Welsh said. ‘Assault. Trespassing.’ 

‘Trespassing?’ Vecchio exclaimed. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. In Pat Scarpetta’s place? Trespassing in a public restaurant?’ 

Shaking his head, Gardino observed, ‘This isn’t how it works, this isn’t how we play the game.’ 

‘What game?’ asked the Mountie. 

‘There are rules,’ Ray told him abruptly. ‘There are rules about how we all share this neighborhood without killing each other.’ 

‘Unwritten rules,’ Welsh added. ‘Be that as it may, these are real charges. The kind that come with F.O.P. lawyers and suspensions for misconduct, not to mention civil suits that could threaten your careers.’ 

Ray’s colleagues were quick to withdraw their support of him. ‘It was Vecchio’s fault, sir,’ Huey said. 

‘Yeah, how were we to know? We just, we just came there to eat. Nothing would have gone down if he hadn’t –’ But apparently Louis Gardino belatedly thought better of making such a statement. 

‘Great. Thanks, guys.’ Though Vecchio seemed unsurprised at this betrayal. 

Welsh decided that it was more than time to launch into the final refrain. He lifted an accusing finger. ‘Huey and Louie –’ 

‘Er, that’s Louis, sir.’ 

‘– you two are on report. Go see the Duty Sergeant on your way out.’

Huey and Gardino turned and headed out the door. The third of Welsh’s troublesome Detectives was attempting to follow along behind them, exhibiting a great deal more optimism than common sense. 

‘Not you, Vecchio. You and I aren’t anywhere near done yet.’ 

Vecchio paused in mid-flight, and turned back to face Welsh. The door closed very quietly as the other two made good their escape. ‘Yes, sir?’ Ray said. 

Welsh stood, shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and began walking around the desk in order to talk to this man on a more equal basis. ‘How come every cop in this station,’ Welsh asked in a thoughtful reprise of the main theme, ‘can sit in Scarpetta’s, side by side with the Zukos of this neighborhood, and enjoy a meal without breaking up the place?’ 

The two of them were now standing there close together. Vecchio left a long pause, obviously resentful at Welsh changing the mood of this to informal – the Detective could easily bluster through a convenient story for his Lieutenant, but Ray Vecchio knew that he owed Harding Welsh something nearer the truth. In a quiet voice, roughened by the seriousness of the situation, Ray asked, ‘You really need an answer to that?’ 

Taking his best guess, Welsh suggested, ‘The sister.’ 

Ray leaned in closer to murmur, ‘Look, Lieu, this is _my_ business, all right?’ 

‘You’re wanting to begin a relationship with Frank Zuko’s sister? Or do you already have an understanding of some kind with her?’ 

‘This is private.’ 

‘I know,’ Welsh whispered, ‘and that’s the way it should have remained. But when you went into Scarpetta’s place breaking heads, Ray, you made it _my_ business.’ He considered his Detective for a moment. ‘Now, I’m telling you straight out – go to Zuko, bury the hatchet –’ 

It was obvious that Vecchio did not want to hear this. He dropped his head to avoid Welsh’s gaze. 

‘– _end_ this thing. End it now, before it gets out of hand.’ 

There was no reply other than a brief glance that said, ‘I can’t do that.’ 

‘All right,’ Welsh responded, walking back around to sit at his desk while pronouncing his judgement. ‘A week’s suspension without pay. Leave your shield here.’ 

Vecchio glared mutinously, though again he seemed unsurprised. Alarmingly enough, his demeanor was one of a man who was simply doing what he had to do. The Detective slid his badge out, thumped it down on Welsh’s desk, and strode out, closing the door behind him. 

Welsh picked up the badge, and for a moment let regretful fingers rub across the silver shield’s engraving. 

The Mountie had been left stranded, standing there on his own in a comer of Welsh’s office. ‘What about me, sir?’ he asked with a worried frown. 

‘Constable, from now on I require you to set a better example for these boys.’ 

‘Yes, sir.’ 

Which wasn’t at all fair, and who knew whether Fraser would actually take such a rebuke to heart. Welsh relented and said, ‘Oh, you can go, too.’ He almost added, ‘Keep an eye on Vecchio,’ but it could probably be assumed that the Mountie would do so anyway. 

‘Ah, yes,’ said Fraser, patently relieved. ‘Thank you kindly.’ And the man got out of there while he could. 

Welsh slipped Vecchio’s badge into his desk drawer. This wasn’t his favorite part of police-work, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it was necessary. These were good men he had working for him, and he gave them plenty of latitude to work in the best ways they knew how – but police officers acting without suitable discipline were as dangerous as the criminals out there, if not more so. And the old adage about justice needing to be done, and seen to be done, was a true one. 

Sighing, Welsh picked up the folder containing his copies of Zuko’s and Sorrento’s complaints. Perhaps if he read them through one more time he could figure out what the next step should be. Perhaps there were holes in their stories, or exaggerations if not outright lies – he was looking for anything he could work with here to make this go away. Though Welsh had a horrible feeling this whole situation would get worse before it got better. 

♦

The four friends were gathering up their coats and other gear, getting ready to leave the police station. It seemed that the long and eventful evening was at last winding to a close, here and now in the cold small hours of the morning. Ray, Jack and Louis were joking amongst themselves, apparently even happier than they’d been when driving to Pat Scarpetta’s restaurant, anticipating nothing more than a fine meal and some wine at Ray’s expense. 

Fraser was initially surprised by the light-heartedness the other three were exhibiting, given the serious consequences of their recent actions, and the possible ramifications for their law enforcement careers. But then he recalled observing how men like these often reacted once the immediate danger of a situation was over, how the camaraderie gave them room to be somewhat less than serious for a time, how they needed space to deal with the aftermath of the adrenalin rush following an arrest or a shoot-out. Nevertheless, this atmosphere still felt a little inappropriate.

‘Ray,’ said Fraser, catching up with his friend as they started to walk down the stairs. Louis and Jack had moved on ahead of them, and were perhaps just out of earshot. ‘Er, Ray, being suspended without pay, isn’t that rather –’ 

‘Ah, don’t worry about it, Benny,’ the cop said airily. The skin of Ray’s lower lip had been broken by the last punch of the evening’s fight at Pat Scarpetta’s place, and his mouth and cheek were already swollen and discolored. Ray seemed oblivious to the injury, though it added to his carelessly pugnacious manner. 

‘But surely it’s a very significant penalty –’ 

‘Forget it for now, all right? There’ll be plenty of time to worry about it tomorrow.’ 

‘If you think,’ the Mountie said doubtfully. 

‘Look, this might all look completely different in the cold light of day. Maybe Zuko will even reconsider pressing those charges, OK? Anything could happen. Maybe he’ll decide to play this by the rules, and find some way of backing down without backing down. You know what I’m saying?’ 

‘But if the Lieutenant –’ 

‘Yeah, well, Welsh had to read us the Riot Act, that’s his job. But he’s still on our side, right?’ 

They were on the first floor now, which was busy with all the comings and goings of the uniformed night-shift – from a police officer’s point of view, Chicago was never quiet, no matter what the hour of the day or night. Jack and Louis were standing there just down the corridor, waiting for Fraser and Ray to catch up. Knowing that there was more to this situation than Ray was telling him, Fraser quickly asked, ‘And Zuko’s sister, Ray?’ 

‘That’s different. That’s separate.’ 

‘He doesn’t seem to think so.’ 

‘Leave it, Benny. I know what I’m doing.’ And, as the four of them re-grouped, Ray pushed on ahead with Louis Gardino at his side. Behind them, Fraser fell into step with Jack Huey. ‘Hey, where’s the wolf?’ Ray called back over his shoulder. 

‘Oh. Er, Diefenbaker and I had a slight difference of opinion. I believe he decided to go home early.’ 

Louis chuckled. ‘Wolves!’ he commented, indicating an awareness of their complete unfathomability. 

‘Indeed,’ said Fraser. 

They exited through a side door of the police station, the one closest to where Ray had parked the Riviera, and the four friends strode down the sidewalk. Ray exclaimed, ‘What a night!’ 

‘I think it was worth it,’ Louis declared. ‘Did you see that big guy go down?’ 

‘Yeah,’ said Ray with some appreciation, ‘that was a good hit, Louie. You could hear his teeth pop even over that God-awful music.’ 

Huey cut into the conversation. ‘Which reminds me – that’s one gold filling you owe me.’ He was rubbing ruefully at his jaw. 

‘ _I_ owe you?’ 

‘Yeah, you owe me, Vecchio.’ 

‘Ah, you’re out of luck, Jack. I can’t afford gold fillings, I’ve got no salary for a week. You want my Ma to starve?’ 

‘Maybe…’ Huey began. 

‘Never mind about your Ma,’ Louis interrupted. ‘I’m the one who’s starving here. Let’s go get something to eat.’ 

‘How can you _still_ be hungry?’ Ray asked him. ‘You already ate through half my raise.’ 

‘We didn’t get dessert, remember. And, what can I say? – I have a fast metabolism.’ 

‘All right, all right,’ Ray grumbled. There was a cafe just down the street that was open twenty-four hours a day, and of course did a roaring trade with police officers. ‘Come on, then. But I’m not paying, all right? This wasn’t part of the deal, and I’m completely broke now, anyway.’ 

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Louis and Jack grudgingly agreed. 

‘That’s fine with me, Ray,’ Fraser added, assuming that he was included in these plans. 

Then Louis said, ‘Give me your keys, Ray, will you?’ 

‘For what?’ 

‘I’m going to take the Riviera for a spin.’ 

Ray laughed at this ludicrous suggestion. ‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ 

‘OK, OK, relax. My coat’s in your front seat, I’m freezing my butt off out here.’ And Louis was indeed the only one of them not bundled up against the cold. 

‘All right.’ Ray delved into a coat pocket, then tossed his key-ring up in a high arc. Louis put out his right hand, and the keys fell neatly into his palm. ‘Good catch,’ said Ray. 

The Riviera was parked two spaces down the cross-street. Louis jogged off towards it, calling back over his shoulder, ‘Order me the pigs in a blanket.’ 

‘All right!’ Ray yelled back. The three remaining men continued in the direction of the cafe. 

As Fraser watched Louis head for the car, he caught sight of someone walking back along the far sidewalk towards them. The Mountie couldn’t have said why, and it didn’t really make any sense, but Fraser had the impression that this person was walking away from the Riviera. He – or she, but presumably he – was carrying something large and heavy, propped up on his shoulder. Dressed darkly, he was hunched over as if protecting himself from the cold, or perhaps protecting his identity from prying eyes. And he was moving a little too quickly, in an odd shuffling kind of motion, as if wary of drawing attention but wanting to get out of the way as soon as possible. 

Indeed, as Fraser kept watching, the person reached the end of the street, turned the corner, and broke into a run, heading away from the cops and the police station. Maybe he or she was simply late for an appointment, or wanted to hurry home where it was warm. But Fraser felt the prickling of wary instinct. Elements he wasn’t even conscious of were adding up to suggest that something unsavory was about to happen. 

Ray, Jack and Fraser had now reached the cafe’s front door. However, Fraser decided that he may as well go and investigate the situation. At the least, his curiosity had been piqued, and he knew from experience that it would not let him rest until it was satisfied. 

‘Er, Ray,’ Fraser said, ‘will you order me pigs in a blanket, as well?’ 

The cop protested, ‘You don’t even know what they are!’ 

‘But they sound yummy,’ Fraser absently offered, as he turned away and headed off down the cross-street. 

♦

You could never quite guess, Ray Vecchio reflected, what the Mountie was going to do next. Feeling somewhat disgruntled by these unexpected desertions, Ray asked, ‘What did _he_ leave in my car?’ 

‘I have no idea,’ said Huey. ‘And frankly, at the moment, I couldn’t really care.’ 

The two of them headed inside the cafe, pleased to be out of the cold night air. 

♦

Fraser was frowning to himself, mulling over why he was feeling that something wasn’t quite right, but coming up with no conclusive answer. However, Louis Gardino was almost at the Riviera now. And it occurred to Fraser that, if the suspicious-looking person had been tampering with the car, he certainly had cause enough to be worried… 

‘Louis!’ Fraser cried out. 

But the cop didn’t hear him. 

♦

‘Hey, Mario,’ Ray said to the uniformed officer sitting at the cafe’s counter. 

‘Hey, Ray,’ the fellow replied. ‘How’s tricks?’ 

‘What’s up, Larry,’ Ray added as he walked past someone else he knew. Over his shoulder, he asked Huey, ‘What do you reckon, Jack? Let’s try for a booth up the back, right?’ 

‘Yeah, sure, up near the heater would be good.’ 

♦

The problem was, Fraser reflected, that he and his friends had made Frank Zuko rather angry that night – and Fraser knew all too well about Zuko’s capacity for taking revenge. So, it did seem wise at this juncture to be wary, and to risk an over-reaction rather than end up regretting not being careful enough. While Ray’s predictions about seeing things differently in the cold light of day rang true, Fraser was aware that dawn was still a few hours away. 

Gardino was at the Riviera now, making his way down the driver’s side. 

‘Louis…’ Fraser called out. 

Still oblivious, Gardino was fitting the key in the door, bending down a little to see what he was doing, no doubt conscious of not scratching the Riviera’s paintwork. 

Last chance, just in case. Fraser picked up speed and yelled, ‘LOUIS!’ 

For a moment it seemed that Fraser’s fears had indeed run away with him. Gardino had opened the driver’s door. Fraser saw Louis leaning into the car, one hand on the roof for balance, reaching for something inside with his other hand. 

And then Fraser was temporarily blinded – though the image of flames had seared itself into his mind’s eye, so that he was hardly aware of losing his sight. 

♦

It wasn’t that they _heard_ the blast – those people in the immediate vicinity experienced the sound as something quite dull and muffled – but they certainly _felt_ it. The shock wave was incredible. 

The force of the explosion rolled over everyone and everything, tossing down whatever was in its path. The police officers sitting up the front of the cafe were thrown against the counter – and the windows shattered inwards, covering them with shards of glass. 

It was too much of a shock, both physical and psychological, to really comprehend for a long stupefied moment. But then people began picking themselves up and wondering what the hell had happened. 

♦

Constable Benton Fraser slowly stood up from where he’d been blown onto the asphalt. As his sight returned, he blinked away the after-images of those first flames, and surveyed the burning wreck of Ray’s car. Pieces of it had been tossed all the way across the street, and the fire was so intense that the Riviera was already little more than a charred shell. It had been a particularly intense blast. 

There was no hope for Louis Gardino, who had been standing right beside it. 

Ray and Jack had come running out of the cafe, and now paused by Fraser – Ray put his arm around Fraser’s shoulders, and Jack absently patted his arm, as if they both wanted tactile reassurance that Fraser was all right. 

But having done that, Jack Huey then tried to keep going. ‘Louis…’ 

Fraser managed to get a vague hold on the man before he took a second step.

‘We got to get him out,’ Jack was saying, ‘we got to get him out of there.’ 

A moment later Ray was at Jack’s other side, grabbing the man more firmly around the waist. And it required all the strength of the two of them to hold Jack Huey back. 

‘We got to get him out of there!’ 

But there was nothing any of them could do. Better for Huey not to go closer, not to see exactly what had happened to Louis, not to put himself in danger for no good reason. In his fear and panic and grief, however, Jack was struggling like a madman to do just that. 

‘We got to get him out.’ 

It took Ray Vecchio to speak the blunt truth. ‘It’s over, Jack. It’s over.’ And as this message sank through, Huey’s struggles at last began quieting. ‘It’s done now,’ Ray added in dull sorrow. ‘Dear God, it’s finished.’ 

♦

Arms still around his friend and unofficial colleague, Fraser looked about him. 

The car parked behind the Riviera was also on fire now, and the heat was intense even from six meters away. The blast had been out of all proportion to what was strictly required. Which was perhaps a blessing, for poor Louis wouldn’t have known anything about it. 

The fact remained that whoever set this bomb in Ray’s car had very serious intentions. Very serious intentions indeed. 

♦

Louis was gone. Louis Gardino was gone. 

♦

Fraser should have put greater faith in his instincts. 

All right, he reflected – though reflection implied peaceful rather than tormented thought – hunches and intuitions were more Ray’s area of expertise, while logic and sober analysis were Fraser’s. And Fraser really hadn’t had the time or the clues to add his instincts up to a sound and solid conclusion. But he’d known, or guessed, enough of what was going on, even if he wouldn’t have been quite able to verbalize what his fears were, or what was likely to happen. Fraser had known in his gut that something was wrong, and he hadn’t trusted that or acted on it quickly enough, and now – 

– and now Louis Gardino was dead.

♦


	4. Four

♦

Ray Vecchio was in the Lieutenant’s office again, this time with Welsh and his boss, Commander Sherry O’Neill. She was pacing up and down in front of the desk, listening while Welsh gave her a summary of events so far. Out there beyond the closed door and the haphazardly hung venetian blinds, the squad room was swarming with police officers and technicians, everyone intent on dealing with this crime that had happened at their station, that had taken one of their own. 

As soon as the Commander had been brought up to date, she declared, ‘Harding, don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with how you’ve handled this so far.’ O’Neill kept pacing to and fro, as energized and focused and angry as any of them. ‘But let me be the voice of rationality for a moment. If it _was_ a bomb, and they haven’t even collected up all the pieces yet –’ 

‘Oh, come on,’ Ray interrupted. ‘The Riv was not going to blow up for no reason.’ 

‘You don’t know for sure what caused it, Detective.’ 

‘I was there, OK? The force of the explosion blew out windows fifty, sixty feet away. It was a bomb.’ 

The Commander treated Ray to one of her most impatient glares. Welsh was just standing there with his hands in his trouser pockets, letting them get on with it. ‘And you’ve already decided who the guilty party is, Vecchio?’ 

‘It was Zuko,’ he told her with absolute certainty. ‘Frank Zuko. And he meant to hit me.’ 

‘Forgive my skepticism, but really – right in front of the station house? That makes no sense.’ 

‘You don’t know Frank Zuko like I do, OK? He’s real clever and smart, but not when he gets hot over something, not when he thinks he’s been crossed or insulted. That’s when he gets stupid, and that’s when he makes the biggest statement he can, and he doesn’t give a damn about who gets in the way.’ 

‘Spare me the pop psychology, Detective.’ 

Ray shook this off and gave her an example. ‘Look, the Caderro brothers betrayed him, and he hit them in their own bedroom. It was a pipe bomb, a big mess – and the kids were in the next room.’ 

Welsh let out a sigh. ‘It’s not an unreasonable conclusion to draw, sir, given the circumstances. Zuko is the likeliest suspect.’ 

She stared hard at both of them, before nodding once. ‘Keep me informed, and no going off half-cocked, all right?’ 

‘Yes, sir,’ said Welsh. He pulled his hands out of his pockets, and began rummaging through his desk drawer. ‘Don’t think you’ve gotten away with anything, Vecchio, but this is no time for suspensions.’ And the Lieutenant handed over the Detective’s badge and gun. 

‘Thank you, sir,’ Ray said, grateful for the tangible vote of confidence. 

‘Ah, you might not be thanking me when this is over and I begin tidying up the details.’ 

Ray was saved from responding, and from suffering through any slighting remarks made by the Commander, when a noisy altercation broke out in the squad room. 

‘What _is_ this?’ Jack Huey was demanding. ‘Who is in charge of these?’ 

Quickly following Welsh and O’Neill as they left the office, Ray tried to make out what was going on. A few of the desks were piled high with bagged evidence which was being examined, sorted and catalogued. Huey was standing there at the nearest desk with a handful of crime scene officers. The Detective looked furious. 

‘It’s all right,’ one of the crime scene people said, ‘I got it.’ 

Pushing him away from the desk, Huey cried out, ‘This is sloppy work! What do you think you’re doing?’ 

‘Back off,’ the fellow said quietly. ‘Just back off.’ 

But Huey had already grabbed the front of the man’s shirt in both hands, and was yelling right in his face. ‘Hey, you break a seal, you tamper with evidence. We don’t need that, Louis don’t need that –’ 

Close by the Detective now, Welsh said, ‘Jack.’ 

‘He’s an _idiot_ ,’ Huey said, appealing to his Lieutenant, and not letting go of the crime scene officer. ‘He’s going to destroy evidence.’ 

‘Jack, stop. Go get yourself a coffee, and let these people do their work.’ 

Ray walked up, and drew Huey aside. ‘It’s OK,’ Ray murmured, ‘it’ll be OK.’ Meaningless soothing rubbish. 

And Elaine Besbriss was there, too, beginning to lead Jack away with comforting hands. ‘Come on, let’s go get a coffee.’ 

‘The guy’s an _idiot_ ,’ the Detective repeated. But the outburst was pretty much over, and as Jack and Elaine headed off in the direction of the cafeteria everyone else returned to what they’d been doing. 

Benton Fraser was standing at another desk full of evidence, where the bomb squad technicians were sifting through the remains of the device itself. Having been distracted by empathy for Jack Huey’s maddened pain, it took the Mountie a moment or two to realize that one of the bomb squad officers was explaining something to him that held great significance. 

‘Each one of these has a signature,’ the man was saying, ‘a distinctive way in which the bomb is made. To us it’s like a fingerprint. Sometimes, if you get lucky enough, a piece of _this_ survives the blast.’ And the officer picked the evidence up – while it hadn’t been bagged, the man was wearing rubber gloves, so it was safe for him to do so. 

The evidence in question was a remnant of sturdy metal pipe, capped at one end to presumably create a sealed cylinder. The other end of this piece had been blown apart into jagged fragments by the force of the blast. Fraser asked, ‘The explosives and the workings would have been packed inside this pipe?’ 

‘That’s right.’ 

Picking up an evidence bag, Fraser indicated the length of red wire it contained. There were two granny knots made in the slim wire, about three centimeters apart. ‘And these double knots at either end…?’ 

‘Yeah, see, that’s exactly what I mean – there’s no particular need for two knots rather than just one, it’s just this guy’s style.’ 

Ray had wandered over. ‘What have you got?’ 

Fraser straightened up, and told him, ‘It’s a signature.’ 

A lift of that expressive brow, and Ray asked the pertinent question. ‘Whose?’ 

♦

It was the signature of a man they all knew by reputation. In short order, the bomb-maker was arrested and brought into the station’s interrogation room. An insulated container full of the materials and tools of his trade was also brought in. It didn’t take much more than a glance to see a pipe and wires amongst those materials that were similar to the ones found under the wrecked Riviera. It was obvious even to Ray. 

They’d kept the bomb-maker cooling his heels long enough. With Jack Huey right behind him, Ray Vecchio strode into the interrogation room and dumped the container on the table in front of the perp. ‘You know what you’re here for,’ Ray said, his voice hard and uncompromising. 

The bomb-maker didn’t even glance up at them. He simply asserted, ‘I’ve got nothing to do with Frank Zuko.’ 

‘You helped him take out the Caderro brothers.’ 

From over Ray’s shoulder, Huey added, ‘You went to jail for him.’ 

‘That was ten years ago. Things change.’ 

‘Some things change,’ Ray said, ‘and some things don’t. Frank hasn’t changed, and neither have you.’ 

There was no reply from the bomb-maker, except that his expression became even more obstinate. 

Ray observed, ‘Amusing, isn’t it, that within weeks of you being lucky enough to get out of jail, we find yet another pipe bomb with your signature neatly written all over it.’ 

‘I want to talk to a lawyer,’ the man said. 

‘I’m sure Frank will be happy to supply you with one,’ Ray responded. ‘Which is just as well for your sake, because a two-bit hood like you would find the really good mouthpieces hard to afford.’ And Ray turned away, held the door open for Huey. There was a uniformed police officer standing watch over the bomb-maker – on his way out, Ray said to her, ‘All right, lock him up. And then let him have his phone call.’ 

♦

They had to move quickly on this kind of thing, Ray Vecchio knew that all too well. The police could not afford to look tardy or confused or unconcerned when facing a threat to their own security. And they had to act in concert – the law enforcement community could not be uncoordinated in their approach. 

The bustling activity around the station seemed to indicate that his colleagues were aware of these urgent imperatives. Everyone was getting ready to go. 

‘Have we got the warrant?’ Ray asked Huey. 

‘I just got off the phone with them. It’s on its way, it’ll be here in thirty seconds.’ 

Fraser came up behind them as the two Detectives headed off down the corridor. ‘Ray,’ the Mountie said, sounding worried. ‘You know that the plastic coating on the wire barely melted.’ 

‘So?’ Ray asked. He and Huey were both strapping on bullet-proof vests as they walked, and other people were joining them. It would be quite a serious show of force. 

Apparently trying to quickly pass along a great deal of information, Fraser talked for a while about nitrates and fuels, temperatures and burn rates – none of which meant anything to the cop until the Mountie concluded with, ‘The wire should have been incinerated.’ 

Huey observed, ‘But it wasn’t.’ 

‘Look,’ Fraser continued, ‘nitric acid leaves a yellow coloration on the skin.’ 

Finally stopping, Ray turned back for a moment, and he glared at his friend across the narrow corridor while the other cops filed out between them. 

The Mountie was pleading, ‘Ray, did anyone check the man’s hands?’ 

Ray thrust a bullet-proof vest at Fraser. ‘We’re in this together,’ he announced in a hard voice. ‘That’s the way it works. Saddle up.’ And then Ray Vecchio walked on down the corridor, and caught up with Huey. 

♦

Irene Zuko gazed out of her bedroom window. It was one of those achingly beautiful Winter days, rare in Chicago, with a clear pale-blue sky, and fresh snow lying on the ground bright under the sunshine. Unfortunately Irene’s view of the garden on this beautiful day was somewhat spoiled by an invasion of dark-blue-suited police officers, who swarmed all over the place carrying shovels and metal detectors.

Her brother Frank was downstairs, fuming over this intrusion. While he’d said he didn’t want the kids bothered, Frank was talking so loudly into the phone that everyone could hear him all through the house. He was scary when he got like this – quickly building up a head of steam, and then letting fly at anyone and everyone who came near him. 

Right now, Frank was talking to his lawyer. ‘Well, there’s _fifty_ of them, all right? No, I am not exaggerating. They’re all over the street. They’re tearing up the lawn, they’re ripping up the house, they’re terrorizing the kids. God knows what the neighbors are thinking. Do you – Well, I’ll tell you what I want you to do,’ Frank said as if explaining the obvious to a dim-witted child. ‘I want you to get your three-hundred-dollar-an-hour butt over here, and get these people out now.’ And he slammed down the phone so hard that Irene could almost hear the plastic shatter. 

Folding her arms firmly across her chest, trying not to shiver, Irene wandered back out into the hallway. Charlie’s rough rumble of a voice didn’t carry as well as Frank’s irate clarity, but Irene could just make him out. ‘The search warrant, Mr. Zuko – it’s in order.’ 

‘What do you think you are now,’ Frank spat at him, ‘a lawyer?’ 

‘No, Mr. Zuko, but I’ve seen plenty of these. Your father –’ 

‘Shut up,’ said Frank. 

And Charlie was wise enough to obey, though surely no one else would ever dare talk to the man that way. Irene let a shudder run through her, and then she forced herself to stillness again. When she was a girl, and her father was still alive, Charlie had always terrified her – and that hadn’t changed now that she was a grown woman. There was something so cold about Charlie, and Irene honestly believed that the man would be prepared to do anything, no matter how unspeakable. And this was combined with an intelligence so sharp and so unscrupulous that he could outwit anyone. She’d had nightmares when she was young, about a Charlie who could not be reasoned with, and who would not be stopped. 

When she reached the head of the stairs, Irene was dismayed to discover that two of Frank’s children were there, curious about the drama unfolding below. She began shooing them away, wanting to protect them from the fears and insecurities she had herself suffered through. This was a difficult house to grow up in. ‘You know you’re meant to be with your Mommy,’ Irene said. ‘Go see her, please. Now. Come on.’ Reluctantly, they meandered off down the hall. Her own kids, rather less accustomed to this kind of thing than Frank’s, were being more obedient. 

The police were swarming around the first floor of the house as well as the garden. Detective Ray Vecchio was down there somewhere. He was still dressed in the suit and shirt he’d worn to the restaurant yesterday evening, and he looked tired and pale, so Irene assumed he hadn’t slept that night. And he was sporting a bruised mouth from the fist-fight he’d started. 

Thankfully Ray and his Lieutenant had listened when Irene pleaded with them to leave the second floor alone. She had assured them the rooms up there were personal, and she had asked them to disturb the kids as little as possible – and the Lieutenant had trusted Ray’s judgement enough to agree. 

Frank strode out into the front hall now, perhaps heading for Ray’s Lieutenant in order to give him a piece of Frank’s mind. But, seeing Irene standing there at the head of the stairs, Frank ordered her in Italian, ‘Stay where you are.’ Not appreciating being spoken to so brusquely, Irene put her hands on her hips and glared down at him. 

Ray also joined the knot of people in the hallway. ‘Yeah, if you’re finished there, get the computer,’ he was telling someone, ‘and all the discs you can find.’ 

‘What’s this about?’ Irene asked. She directed the question at Ray, because no one else seemed prepared to give her a straight answer – and Ray had always been honest with her, no matter what else was going on in their lives. 

For now, though, he simply glanced up at her and said, ‘Why don’t you ask him?’ 

‘Frank?’ she demanded. 

‘Stay upstairs,’ was her brother’s only reply. His tone quite clearly indicated that he did not want to be bothered by her. 

‘We’ve got a device,’ someone announced, coming into the hall from the kitchen, carrying a box full of mechanical bits and pieces. He was wearing a baseball cap with some kind of official logo on it. 

The sleazy Michael Sorrento was shadowing the man. ‘I couldn’t stop them, Frank,’ Michael said in his apologetic manner which grated on Irene for it sounded so insincere. ‘They dug up the whole damned backyard.’ 

Another of Frank’s brood wandered out to see what was happening, and Irene physically encouraged him back out of sight behind the banisters. 

The man in the cap continued, ‘There were detonators under the floorboards in the tool shed, and –’ 

‘In the _tool shed?’_ Frank retorted in disbelief. 

‘– they’re the kind that won’t initiate without electricity.’ 

Apparently that was what the police had been looking for, because the Lieutenant said, ‘All right, cuff him.’ 

Frank laughed. ‘This is ridiculous!’ he cried out as one of the plain-clothes men began fitting a pair of handcuffs to his left wrist. Then Frank focused on Ray, his fuming at last becoming rage. Pointing an accusing finger, Frank said, ‘You! You did this, you planted that crap in my backyard.’

And Ray was of course yelling right back at him – ‘You killed a cop, you think you’re gonna get away with this? Let me tell you something, pal –’ 

It almost degenerated into another fist-fight. But as Ray stepped forward, his Lieutenant got in the way, and restrained the Detective with both arms round his waist – while the officer who was cuffing Frank dragged him out of the way. ‘Easy, easy,’ the Lieutenant was saying. 

‘– you’re lucky you’re not getting carried out of here on a stretcher!’ Ray declared. 

The Lieutenant called back over his shoulder, ‘Get Zuko out of here!’ 

Michael Sorrento brought Frank’s coat to him, and settled it on his shoulders. ‘This is a set-up,’ Frank was blustering for everyone to hear. ‘Charlie, you call the lawyer, you have him meet me downtown. This is all going to come to nothing but a suit for harassment and wrongful arrest.’ And Frank was still talking as he was led out through the front door. 

Irene stared down at Ray Vecchio, feeling thoroughly exasperated by these men. These two men she loved. Ray looked back up at her, regretful but apparently feeling that he was doing what he had to do. After a long moment, Irene turned away, and she headed back down the hallway to see to the children. 

♦

Charlie stood on the front steps of the Zuko house, watching young Frank being led away in handcuffs. Something wasn’t quite right here, something didn’t add up, though Frank himself was too incensed to even begin to see it. As for the police – they were furious over the murder of one of their own men, and they were as eager to avenge this act of disrespect as any group of mobsters could be. However, Charlie wondered whether some of the cops knew what the missing pieces of the puzzle were. 

Michael Sorrento was standing there beside Charlie. It seemed that this ambitious Young Turk considered himself to be in a position to give Charlie orders, for he said, ‘Get the car.’ 

Well, the car was indeed required, and Frank would expect some unity of effort under the circumstances. Though he silently expressed his distaste for Sorrento, Charlie trotted down the steps and headed for the garage. 

♦

Irene returned to stand at her bedroom window, with her arms wrapped firmly across her chest. The police were all heading back to their cars and vans, leaving the garden a wreck and the first floor of the house a tumbled pilfered mess – and taking Frank with them. And Irene still wasn’t quite sure what any of this was about, other than the obvious fact that Frank and Ray were at each other yet again. This time it must be horribly serious, however, for Ray had blamed Frank for the death of a policeman. 

Letting out a sigh, Irene looked around her. The beautiful clear weather was already nothing more than a memory – the day had closed in, and snow was falling. Ah, Winter in Chicago. She really should have remembered how bitterly cold it could be. 

♦

Benton Fraser was standing in Zuko’s front yard, talking to the bomb squad officer and looking through the box of detonators they’d found. When he saw Ray and Jack Huey come out of the house, however, Fraser excused himself and quickly walked over to meet them. ‘You’re arresting him?’ Fraser asked. 

In a very quiet voice, Ray responded, ‘We’ve got everything we need.’ 

Fraser fell in beside his friend, and the three of them headed down the front path. ‘Ray – this is not logical. Zuko keeping detonators in his own house, ten meters from his daughter’s bedroom window?’ 

‘It’s more consideration than he gave the Caderro brothers’ kids. They’re dead.’ 

‘The box was found in a shed in the backyard. _Anyone_ could have planted it there.’ They had reached the sidewalk now, with Huey still following behind Ray and Fraser. 

‘Maybe,’ Ray acknowledged, though he sounded uninterested. 

‘Ray, think about the scenario you’re suggesting,’ Fraser asked. And he checked off the points against the fingers of his left hand – ‘Zuko constructs a bomb, on his own, and plants it underneath your car, in front of a police station. How likely is any of that?’ 

‘Come on, Fraser,’ Huey said. Ray and Fraser turned to listen to him, and the three of them paused there together on the sidewalk. ‘Frank Zuko’s a psycho, everybody knows that. You can’t expect him to behave logically. He’s capable of anything.’ 

Fraser said, ‘The man I saw in that street last night was not Frank Zuko.’ 

‘Look,’ Ray replied, ‘you pay anybody enough money, they’ll do anything. And Frank’s got plenty of disposable cash.’ 

All right, Fraser thought – Ray Vecchio was a man with fine instincts. Perhaps Fraser needed to appeal to those. ‘This feels all wrong, Ray. Everything about it feels wrong.’ 

‘No. No, it feels right. Frank Zuko is responsible for this. If you knew him, and if you knew this neighborhood any better, you’d see that clear as day.’ 

‘Then, what about his alibi?’ Fraser asked. 

With something in his tone that indicated Ray knew this was a weak point, the cop said, ‘He was at home.’ 

‘Witnesses?’ 

‘None.’

‘None,’ Fraser repeated. ‘Ray, _please_ –’ as the cop stalked off, the Mountie called after him – ‘think this through. Zuko kills somebody, and he does not arrange for an alibi?’ 

Ray Vecchio came striding back, apparently provoked beyond reason. ‘Who the hell do you think died out there, huh?’ And the cop was talking hard, right in Fraser’s face, while Jack Huey stood there looking askance at the Mountie. ‘So, you got a wire that should be melted, but it’s not. You got an absence of fingerprints. You got Zuko without an alibi when he should have one. All right,’ Ray continued in hushed tones, perhaps aware that he shouldn’t be yelling about this with Sorrento watching them from the front steps, ‘maybe somebody did plant those detonators, and maybe they didn’t.’ His voice rose again. ‘All I know is that we’ve got a dead cop, a friend – and we’ve got the guy who did it. _Do you follow me?’_

The two of them stared at each other for the longest and most difficult of moments. And then Fraser finally nodded, and said quietly, ‘Yes, I think I do.’ 

‘Good.’ And Ray stalked off again, with Huey right behind him. 

Fraser waited there on his own, waited there through a beat or two standing alone. Something hot was pricking at his eyes, and he was too honest to attribute it to the biting cold. He blinked, rather than risk wiping at the tears, and then he turned and walked away. 

It had often seemed strange to Fraser that he and Ray should be such good friends, for there was certainly no logic to it. Perhaps, if pressed, Ray would say that it simply felt right. Friends they were, however – and these were the first really harsh words ever spoken between them. 

Well, Fraser thought, never mind that for now. He had an urgent case that he needed to progress. 

This was Chicago, and Fraser was not naive about how things worked here. Justice in Chicago was sometimes observed more in the broad picture than in the detail, was sometimes apparent more in the ends than in the means. But a true police officer could not afford to lose sight of the detail, and could not afford to compromise on the methods he or she used. 

Ray Vecchio was better than this – Fraser knew that. Ray was a far better cop than this. But it seemed that Ray’s feelings in relation to Frank Zuko, and his desire to bring an end to this particular mobster’s career, were more compelling than the Detective’s usually strong sense of fairness. 

Fraser pondered over the situation as he walked. No one had offered him a lift back to the station – or if they did, he hadn’t noticed – but Fraser didn’t mind for he had plenty to think about. This case was a very simple one on the surface, and obviously pointed in Zuko’s direction. Indeed, Fraser could understand why Ray and the others grasped at that and refused to look further – although he thought they were wrong to do so, even Fraser found it tempting to use this to put Frank Zuko behind bars where he belonged. But Fraser mistrusted the surface simplicity, because when the case was examined in more detail there were undeniable gaps and contradictions and deceptions in it. 

Louis Gardino was dead, and Benton Fraser was as determined as any of Louis’s other colleagues to bring his murderer to justice. Unfortunately, Fraser feared that the others were targeting the wrong suspect. He had to do better for Louis than that. 

♦

The police station was quiet. Two days before, in the immediate aftermath of Louis Gardino’s death, there had been activity and outrage enough to power the entire city of Chicago. Today, as the twenty-seventh precinct readied itself for Louis’s funeral, the contrast in atmosphere was marked. While the intensity and the focus were still apparent, everything was muted and reflective. No one spoke, or if they did they whispered. And, one by one, those people who usually wore plain clothes slipped away and changed into their formal blue uniforms. 

The Violent Crimes unit, where Louis had worked for some years, was particularly becalmed. The place was not peaceful – for elements of remorse and grief and anger, and the sour sense of unfinished business, hung over their heads – but everyone in the room was slow, or completely still, and sunk in contemplation. 

Elaine Besbriss, the Civilian Aid worker, sat at her desk, and she watched Detective Ray Vecchio sitting at his. Yes, the ceremony today was in honor of Louis, and Elaine was certainly taking the opportunity to remember their friend and to wish his soul Godspeed – but that didn’t lessen her concern for those people Louis left behind. 

There was poor Ray sitting withdrawn or abandoned in the dimmest corner of the room. It had been his argument with an old enemy, and his car that the bomb was set under – Frank Zuko had intended that the funeral today be Ray Vecchio’s, not Louis Gardino’s. No doubt Ray felt awful for helping initiate a chain of events he might have guessed would end so tragically. 

Elaine’s compassion for what Ray was suffering through prompted her towards offering support. Wanting coffee herself, though she couldn’t face the thought of eating lunch, Elaine poured a second mug and carried it over to Ray. 

He was in his uniform already, though bare-headed, with his cap lying discarded on the desk. Staring down at his clasped hands, Ray was mourning and his face was pale. He didn’t notice Elaine approach, but once she was standing by his desk Ray lifted his brow in acknowledgment of her, and blessed her with the tiniest of wry smiles in gratitude for the coffee. 

And then Ray dropped his head again, perhaps as close to weeping as a man let himself get in this kind of company, and Elaine moved away and left him on his own. Left him knowing that he wasn’t alone. A man like Ray Vecchio needed friends, Elaine reflected, and he really didn’t have as many as he deserved. 

♦

Detective Louis Gardino was being buried with full honors. When the door of the hearse was opened, it could be seen that his coffin was covered in the Stars and Stripes. His six pall-bearers took the coffin, and began carrying this heaviest of burdens towards the grave. Leading the way were Louis’s partner, Detective Jack Huey, and his supervisor, Lieutenant Harding Welsh. Behind them on either side of the middle of the coffin were Louis’s colleagues, Detective Ray Vecchio and Constable Benton Fraser. Two of the uniformed officers who had recently worked closely with Louis in an investigation brought up the rear. 

It was a cold and cheerless day. The pall-bearers trod scrunching through a fresh fall of snow as they carried the coffin through an honor guard of eight officers, four standing to attention on either side. A priest waited at the head of the grave, dressed in a black robe and purple stole. 

A multitude of Chicago police stood there in their blues. The ranks of Lieutenant and Commander could be identified by the gold braid around their caps and their gold shields, while the lower ranks wore white bands and silver shields. Fraser was of course impeccable in his RCMP dress uniform, the scarlet jacket bright against the dark blue of the locals. 

Louis’s family were there beside the grave, his parents and relatives and ex-wives all gathered closely together. The adults wore dark clothes, though the children were dressed in bolder colors. While his mother and father were wearing black, they displayed the same penchant for a dash of tartan as their son had. 

The two officers who’d assisted as pall-bearers now took up the Old Glory, and folded it into a neat triangle that showed only the stars. One of them then formally presented the flag to Louis’s mother, whose tears fell ceaselessly. 

The honor guard reformed in a row on the far side of the grave, and they lifted their rifles ready to fire into the air. 

Commander Sherry O’Neill stood tall and solemn, bringing all of her considerable authority to this honoring of Louis Gardino. 

Lieutenant Welsh was beside her, also bringing dignity and official recognition to the proceedings. His weathered face was troubled, however, betraying a slightly more personal response. He had worked with Gardino for years, after all, while the Commander was new to the precinct – and as Louis’s supervisor, Welsh was expected to shoulder some measure of responsibility for him. That responsibility was not easy to let go, even now. 

The honor guard was given the order, and they fired. Once. 

As Benton Fraser contemplated the coffin where his friend lay, he might have seemed unmoved – those few people who knew him well enough to read his expression, however, would have witnessed his heartfelt sadness and regret. 

Fraser’s wolf Diefenbaker sat obediently beside him. It appeared that the wolf knew what was happening, for he behaved accordingly. 

Elaine Besbriss stood there in her blues, her face somber and compassionate. 

Another order, and eight rifles fired into the cold air. Twice. 

Ray Vecchio’s face was grim, and his bruising seemed both physical and emotional. 

Jack Huey, the man whom Louis Gardino thought had no heart, was the most visibly moved of all the police officers, though his expression was simply bleak. His gaze remained fixed on the coffin, and he seemed lost in his own thoughts. 

Another order. Thrice. The noise echoed back from the buildings surrounding this city cemetery. 

A long moment of stillness stretched as the honor guard stood down. There were so many people here from the precinct, faces serious as they paid their respects. Finally one of them turned, and the gathering of police officers began breaking up and walking away, silent. 

Louis Gardino was gone. The man who had been easier to know than to like, easier to tease than to tolerate. The man who would have been surprised at how genuinely his passing was mourned. Louis Gardino was gone.

♦


	5. Five

♦

Ray Vecchio made his way out to the cemetery’s parking lot once the funeral was over. Having forgotten where he parked, he automatically looked around for a flash of emerald green, and then he remembered with a pang that the Riviera was gone. Was that too awful, he wondered – mourning for his car while he really should be thinking only of Louis? Well, Ray supposed that Louie, wherever he was right now, would understand. The 1971 Buick Riviera wasn’t just any ordinary car, after all. And Gardino had known that well enough to tease Ray with, ‘I’m going to take the Riviera for a spin.’ 

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Ray had replied, laughing. 

Squad cars and unmarked cars were pulling away all around him, which made it easier for Ray to locate the beige Toyota station-wagon he’d been cursed with from the station’s motor-pool. It really was adding insult to injury, driving this imported heap of junk around. Jeez, Ray thought, it was a marvel that the thing didn’t have fake wood paneling down the sides. 

Ray unlocked the door, got into the driver’s seat, and started the ignition. Which was when there was a tap at the window on the passenger’s side. Unsurprised, Ray looked over to see the red uniform, and then Fraser bending down to silently ask for a ride with a lift of his brow. Indulging in a gusty sigh, Ray leaned over to unlock the door. Fraser let Diefenbaker into the back seat, then slid into the front, and Ray finally got the rotten excuse for a car moving. 

The silence lasted for five long minutes. Ray had been sitting there praying that they could complete the journey without speaking at all, but he’d known Fraser wouldn’t be able to help himself. 

‘Ray.’ The Mountie let a beat or two go past, but then he continued even though the cop hadn’t acknowledged his opening. ‘Please reconsider what you’re doing. Frank Zuko is no doubt guilty of many things, but he did not murder Louis.’ 

‘Louis would be doing this, if he could. Louis would have taken any opportunity to arrest that scum.’ 

‘Yes,’ Fraser allowed, ‘I suppose that he would.’ 

Ray nodded. ‘I’m doing this for Louis.’ 

‘No, you’re not. You’re doing it for you. But, Ray, you’re a better cop than this.’ 

‘Don’t tell me what I am,’ Ray flared at the man. ‘I don’t want to talk about this with you. You don’t understand what’s going on.’ 

‘I do, Ray.’

‘Look, Zuko hurt Marco Matrani, I didn’t do anything. He hurt you, I didn’t do enough. I’m not making the same mistake again. He killed Louis, and I’m taking him down.’ 

Though Ray was staring fixedly out through the windshield, he was aware of Fraser turning to face him. The Mountie said, ‘Ray, I believe that in your zeal, which is highly commendable in many ways, you’re overlooking some important evidence that leads elsewhere.’ 

‘You know, Benny, you used to trust my judgement about Frank Zuko.’ 

There was no reply. 

‘You don’t know how things work around here,’ Ray continued sullenly. The traffic light ahead of them turned amber, and the cop dully contemplated putting his foot down and speeding through the intersection – but what was the point? ‘You don’t know how it all works.’ 

Fraser muttered, ‘I’m afraid that I’m beginning to.’ 

Ray turned to glare at him, absolutely furious. ‘You’re overlooking some important stuff, too, Fraser, all right? In your fight for politeness, pedantry and the Canadian way, you might not have noticed that we have rules around here. There are rules, OK, otherwise the cops and the wiseguys could never live side by side in this neighborhood. But, no – along comes the Mountie, and he tries to throw the whole fragile ecosystem off balance.’ 

The silence returned, and both men resorted to staring out through the windshield. When the light turned green, Ray bullied the Toyota into trundling along, and then wrenched it left into the next cross-street. 

Finally Fraser said, ‘There are leads, Ray. I was hoping you’d help me follow them up.’ 

‘No.’ 

A sigh. The Mountie actually let out a sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Ray.’ 

‘Yeah,’ Ray said sourly, ‘what about?’ 

‘I’m sorry that we have disagreed about something so important.’ 

‘It happens.’ Ray glanced over at the man. ‘Drop it, OK? I don’t want to get into this with you right now.’ 

Fraser nodded, perhaps realizing he should just let the matter go. ‘Then I wonder if you would tell me a little about the sister, Ray. Help me to understand that.’ 

The anger was quick to rise again. ‘I told you that’s separate to all this,’ Ray said. 

‘Yes, I know. I was attempting to change the subject. I have to admit that I’ve been rather curious.’ Fraser tilted his head to look at Ray indirectly. ‘She’s a very beautiful woman. You knew her when you were younger?’ 

Ah, flattery and curiosity, and someone to talk to about things Ray couldn’t really even mention to anyone else. Caving in, Ray let out a long sigh. He supposed that Fraser was still his best friend, despite everything. ‘Yeah, well, Irene was my girlfriend for a while in high school. Not for a long while, not for as long as I’d have liked, but it was important, you know? It was special.’ 

‘And was it known? Were people generally aware of the relationship?’ 

‘Kind of.’ 

‘It must have been very difficult for you.’ 

‘Yeah. People knew we liked each other, and we dated when we could. Went to school dances together, that sort of thing. But no one really knew how important it was to us. And then –’ 

‘You broke up,’ the Mountie guessed. ‘The pressures proved too much.’ 

‘No, we didn’t break up, we didn’t have any damned say in it.’ Amazing how sad this made him feel, even though the memories were over fifteen years old, and so much had happened since then. ‘Her father sent her off to a finishing school when she turned eighteen, in Ireland of all places, a school in an old castle. Wouldn’t let her go to college, wouldn’t let her stay in Chicago. A couple of years later she got married to some guy who – some guy who was way out of my league.’ Ray shrugged. ‘Well, she was pretty special. I always figured Irene deserved royalty.’ 

Fraser said very quietly, ‘I think that maybe she deserved you.’ 

‘Hey, I sure didn’t turn into a handsome prince when she kissed me.’ Ray glanced over, and saw his friend was giving him that amused little half-smile. The cop let out a breath that might have otherwise been a laugh. ‘It was out of our hands,’ Ray continued. ‘She was too scared of her father to make any real objection. And I didn’t have the nerve to do anything, either. I mean, if I’d tried to tell old Carl Zuko that she was mine, and she should stay – well, some jogger would have found me floating in Lake Michigan the next morning.’ 

Silence, almost peaceful as they neared the twenty-seventh precinct station house. 

‘But she’s back now,’ Ray murmured to himself. ‘She’s back, and we’re both adults, and she’s given Prince Charming the flick, and it’s no longer out of our hands.’ 

‘Then I wish you luck, Ray,’ the Mountie offered. ‘If luck is what you need.’ 

No, all Ray needed was to know that Irene would defy her brother. Ray was prepared to do so, and surely Frank wouldn’t make too much trouble over it. It would be impossible to simply date – Ray and Irene would have to leap in with both feet, make the boldest of statements, and marry. He wondered if her divorce was final yet, or at least underway. And then Frankie would just have to accept it, he’d lose face if he didn’t, especially with Ray’s intentions being so obviously honorable – though Frank getting used to the idea might take some time, and lots of yelling, and bad feelings all round. But if Irene was prepared to leave Frank’s protection and come to Ray’s, and if Father Behan was on their side, then everything else could be sorted out one way or another. Ma Vecchio would surely welcome Irene and her children into the family home. It could really work out this time. 

In a daze of happy plans, Ray parked the car, and wandered off. It was a moment before he realized that the Mountie wasn’t following. ‘This way,’ Ray called to him. 

‘I was intending to return to the station, and –’ 

‘Forget it, Fraser, just forget it for now, all right? We’re having a beer or two to see Louie on his way. Don’t they do that after a funeral in Canada?’ 

‘Yes, of course we do, Ray,’ the Mountie said, a little impatient. And he was still standing there, twenty feet away. Ray felt it rather odd to be talking to his friend across such a length of snowy sidewalk. ‘Do you really think it’s wise to be drinking again?’ 

Ray treated the man to a glower. ‘Don’t start with me, Fraser.’ 

‘Well, given what happened last time, I can’t help but worry that –’ 

Voice hard, Ray suggested, ‘You’re so damned fond of interfering, you’d better come along, and make sure I only have two.’ 

‘I can’t, Ray. I have work to do.’ 

They stared at each other for a long moment. Well, Ray thought, they were treading different paths, and that was that. He lifted his chin in farewell, and turned away, heading for the bar where Louis Gardino’s other colleagues would already be gathering. He couldn’t help but let out a sigh. 

Benton Fraser also turned away, and he began walking towards the police station. It was a long time since the Mountie had had to work on his own, and he supposed it was no real surprise that he’d become rather used to the luxury of having a partner. Well, never mind that, he told himself sternly. Just get on with the task at hand. 

♦

Still in his dress reds after the funeral, and with his Stetson cradled in his right arm, Fraser stepped into the coffee shop. Diefenbaker stood next to him, alert, no doubt sensing that the Mountie was feeling slightly uncomfortable about being here. 

It only took a moment to spot Charlie sitting alone at a table near the back of the room – and Charlie, being a careful man, was of course already aware of Fraser pausing there in the entrance. 

It wasn’t an easy thing for Fraser to do, coming here to talk to Charlie. Not wanting to betray that, however, Fraser began walking down the length of the bar area towards the man, maintaining a relaxed posture. Dief trotted along beside him, reassuring. 

‘Can I help you?’ one of the waiters asked when the Mountie was about halfway there. 

‘Ah, no, thank you,’ said Fraser. He noticed that a couple of people behind the bar were hanging a new mirror, and rearranging a collection of bric-a-brac and potted plants. ‘I’d simply like to speak with this gentleman.’ 

‘Of course, of course. I’m just bringing him an espresso. Maybe you’d like one?’ 

‘Well, yes. That would be very welcome.’ Wanting there to be no misunderstandings or misplaced obligations, Fraser located a couple of American one-dollar bills in his Stetson, and placed them on the bar for the waiter to collect. And then he noticed a pile of magazines and a few games sitting there, presumably for the amusement of customers. ‘May I?’ he asked, picking up the box of dominoes. 

‘Yes, of course.’ 

It wasn’t an easy thing for Fraser to do, coming here to talk to a man who had once intended to kill him. Remembering lying there hurt and helpless on the cold floor of a warehouse as Charlie lifted a gun and sighted down it, his eyes hard. It wasn’t easy, but it was what Fraser had to do. Charlie had been acting under orders from Frank Zuko back then, so it wasn’t a personal matter between them. And right now Fraser was investigating Louis’s death, which was a very personal matter indeed – and that concern must override any lingering discomfort. So Fraser took a deep breath, put the past firmly behind him, and walked over to the table to face the man. 

Charlie was sitting there contemplating him, his demeanor thoughtful and detached. If the older man was wary, he didn’t betray it. He was dressed casually in a button-down blue shirt and a brown knitted sweater, and his steepled fingers rested against the tip of his chin, so that he might almost have been praying. ‘Good afternoon, Constable.’ 

‘Good afternoon. Would you care for a game of dominoes?’ 

‘Why not,’ Charlie replied, his tone dry and perhaps a little amused. ‘Have a seat.’ And he indicated the chair across the small table from him with an expansive gesture. 

Fraser nodded and sat down, and Dief settled to his haunches beside them, watching both men. As Fraser began unpacking the box, and arranging the twenty-eight bones face down on the table, a waiter brought over two tiny cups of espresso and a plate of biscotti. ‘Thank you kindly,’ the Mountie said. 

‘You’re not with your colleagues propping up a bar somewhere,’ Charlie observed in his rough voice. ‘The neighborhood is very quiet this afternoon, but for you coming here.’ 

Lifting an eyebrow, Fraser asked, ‘Would your colleagues be inclined to take advantage of my colleagues’ distraction?’ 

‘There’s a certain respect due on such occasions.’ 

‘Ah. That would be one of the unwritten rules I hear so much about.’ 

Charlie smiled a little, and then the expression became a grimace. ‘Times change. Sometimes the younger men aren’t so concerned about such niceties.’ 

‘Is that a warning?’ Fraser asked, keeping his voice quiet and low. 

‘Perhaps it’s a question.’ 

Each man selected a bone, in order to determine the lead. Charlie won, holding the six / four piece. They returned the bones to the pile, and Fraser reshuffled them while saying, ‘If you’re referring to my presence here, then I decided that work had the higher priority.’ 

‘And that work involves me?’ 

Fraser dropped his gaze, and began selecting his seven bones. After a moment, he said, ‘I believe we might have some common interests at present, and that we might be able to help each other.’ 

Once Charlie had also taken his playing pieces, the spare bones were pushed to one side. ‘Common interests? Is that likely?’ 

‘Surely it’s not unexpected. If the people living in this neighborhood had no common concerns, then there would be no rules or understandings between them.’ 

‘True,’ said Charlie, and he began the game. 

Diefenbaker seemed comfortable enough with this man, apparently sensing no immediate danger. He sat there looking up at Fraser and Charlie as they talked, perhaps reading the conversation. Or perhaps the wolf was simply interested in the biscotti. 

‘That’s a fine animal you have there, Constable.’ 

‘Thank you.’ 

And, sure enough, as soon as Charlie picked up one of the biscuits, Dief became very focused on the man. Charlie fed him with a laugh. ‘He’s not a pet, he’s too smart to be a pet, but he expects to be indulged.’ 

‘I’m afraid so.’ 

Charlie took a biscotto for himself, and then placed one of his bones against the growing trail of dominoes on the table. ‘Everyone should have such a companion.’ 

‘Yes.’ Fraser took a sip of the strong espresso, and said, ‘If I may speak plainly, I fear that the police have been over-zealous in arresting Mr. Zuko. Understandably, I may add.’ 

‘Over-zealous?’ Charlie repeated, non-committal. 

‘I believe that he is not directly responsible for the crime he has been arrested for. Perhaps he is not even indirectly involved, beyond the responsibility we all share.’ 

‘So, you want to help Frank Zuko?’ 

‘No, that is not my motivation. I have no interest in seeing Mr. Zuko anywhere other than in prison.’ 

‘Then, where are our common concerns, Constable?’ 

‘A police officer,’ Fraser began. ‘A friend,’ he amended, meeting Charlie’s gaze. ‘A friend has been killed. In fact, I count myself lucky that I didn’t lose more than one friend at the time, for a relatively indiscriminate method was used. I would very much like to see my friend’s murderer brought to justice.’ 

‘Agreed,’ said Charlie. ‘Dead cops are bad for business. Even Frankie-boy knows that.’ 

‘Strange, isn’t it? I agree that Mr. Zuko is a clever enough businessman not to commit this kind of crime. If he did choose to do such a thing, I believe he would probably maintain a discreet distance from the crime itself. Perhaps even the orders he gave would be open to other interpretations. And yet every piece of evidence in this case points directly to him.’ 

‘This bothers you,’ Charlie asked flatly. 

‘Yes, it does. If it means that the real killer of Louis Gardino goes free.’ 

Charlie steepled his fingers again, and contemplated the Mountie. ‘What a piece of work you are.’ 

‘Ah. I believe that, perhaps like you, Hamlet was being sarcastic – What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! – but I am being quite serious.’ 

‘You have Zuko in the wringer, and you don’t want to pull the handle?’ Charlie parted his hands to make a broad appeal. ‘And you call yourself a cop?’ 

Fraser almost smiled, though this wasn’t at all funny – he couldn’t help but reflect that this was Ray’s attitude, too. Ray Vecchio dearly wanted to pull the wringer’s handle, and clearly Charlie would understand Ray’s motivations. Unfortunately, neither man seemed to give Fraser’s motivations much credence. Fraser sighed, and said, ‘What I would like for Mr. Zuko, and what the law dictates, are two different things. I’m afraid, right now, that difference is the only thing that’s keeping him alive. Wherein lies our common interests.’ 

Charlie laughed, and sipped at his espresso. ‘You’re renewing my faith.’ 

‘Well, I’m glad,’ Fraser murmured in response to this declaration. ‘Now, someone has gone to a lot of trouble to help the police make this arrest. That gives a strong indication of the possible motive.’ 

‘Sure – to bring Frank down.’ Another laugh from the older man, as he placed a bone on the table and selected a replacement from the dwindling pile. ‘Find me somebody amongst your colleagues or mine who doesn’t want that.’ And Charlie added very flatly, ‘He ain’t like his father.’ 

Fraser thought of his own father, Sergeant Robert Fraser of the RCMP. ‘Very few of us are,’ he quietly observed. And then he recalled the few stories he’d heard about Carl Zuko, and Fraser spared a thought for Frank, forever dwelling in the shadow of a man who was perhaps as large as life gets. 

‘But like I said;’ Charlie was continuing, ‘times have changed. Perhaps Frankie-boy has different opportunities. Perhaps he could have taken better advantage of them, perhaps not. Who knows?’ 

‘You’ve stayed with him all these years,’ Fraser observed. ‘You’ve protected him.’ 

‘Out of respect for his father.’ 

Fraser guessed, ‘But now that is changing as well?’ 

‘Look,’ said Charlie, leaning forward on his elbows to talk confidentially across the small table. ‘I’m fifty-six years old, my arches have fallen. I don’t run too good anymore, and the young guys, they’ve got me winded before I’m down the front stoop. You’ve got to know when to get out, before somebody decides you need a push.’ 

As Fraser placed another domino on the table, a double five, he quietly asked, ‘ls someone pushing you?’ 

A long pause stretched while they each played another bone. There were only four spare pieces left. Charlie eventually said, ‘Young men have ambitions, they get impatient. Sometimes they’re not prepared to wait.’ 

The Mountie looked at him, considering to whom these words might refer. 

Charlie lifted his chin to indicate the bar area of the cafe. ‘You saw them fixing a new mirror to the wall. The Dorrio brothers smashed this place up on Frankie’s birthday. At least, the Young Turks involved claimed they were sent by the Dorrio brothers.’ 

‘You believe otherwise.’ 

A shrug that indicated maybe. Apparently Charlie was already speaking as clearly as he wanted to, or felt able to. ‘But now Frank’s troubles are Frank’s troubles. He’s going to have to get somebody else to watch after him. I wish him luck.’ 

‘Will he need luck?’ 

The older man stared down at the dominoes, though it appeared he wasn’t interested in actually finishing the game. ‘There are a few contenders. Perhaps he’ll choose well. Perhaps not.’ 

‘I see,’ Fraser murmured, musing over this. 

There was one biscotto left. Charlie took a bite from it, then gave the rest to Dief. ‘Hey,’ he said to the wolf in a friendly tone. 

Diefenbaker growled, responding in kind. 

‘Want to come to Florida with me?’ Charlie asked Dief. He laughed, and sipped the last of his coffee. A waiter came over as soon as Charlie beckoned. ‘Another espresso.’ 

‘Yes, sir. And for you, sir?’ the waiter asked Fraser. 

‘No, thank you.’ It was time to leave. Fraser stood, collected his Stetson, and nodded a polite good-afternoon to Charlie. ‘Dief!’ he said, and after a growled farewell for Charlie the wolf followed Fraser down past the bar area and out through the door. The conversation had given Fraser plenty to think about. 

♦

The Winter evening had closed in dark and early around the Zuko house. The kids were in bed asleep already, exhausted after a troubled day, and everything was as quiet as it ever got around here. Irene made herself a mug of chamomile tea with honey, and slowly took it upstairs to her bedroom. 

There was no word about Frank, who was still at the police station. The lawyer thought Frank would probably be there overnight at least, as they were making no progress in sorting this thing out. Apparently the police had held the funeral that afternoon for their fallen comrade, and perhaps it was understandable that they were in no mood to release or even give due process to the man they held responsible. 

Meanwhile, Charlie was out there somewhere doing whatever mysterious and terrible things Charlie did when he was left to his own devices – and Irene had at last gotten rid of that slimy Michael Sorrento, who was far too concerned and way too solicitous for Irene’s peace of mind. 

The tea was still too hot to drink, so Irene put the mug down on the chest of drawers, and began getting ready for bed. It was quite the luxury, contemplating an early and peaceful night. Perhaps she’d sit in bed and read for a while – finally begin that new psychology text she’d been hoping to make a start on ever since she’d returned to Chicago and all its difficult distractions – or maybe she’d really indulge herself, and go through her childhood and teenage novels and textbooks, still lined up in alphabetical order on the shelves by her desk. 

Turning off the main light, Irene switched on another table-lamp, so that the room was bathed in a warm glow. Then, having smoothed out and hung up her clothes, Irene snagged a t-shirt and dragged it on over her head. As a child, she’d liked pretty things with plenty of lace and flounces, but during her teenage years Irene had always dressed for bed in a simple t-shirt and a pair of knickers. And now she could return to such minimal attire, she could get back to essentials – indeed, Irene could wallow around like a complete slob, for she had no husband to worry about anymore. 

Irene padded barefoot across the carpet, collected the mug of tea, and breathed in the fragrant steam. The liquid was at last just cool enough to begin sipping at. She sat down on the foot of her bed, between the curtains, holding the mug in both hands to soak in the warmth. The bed was a four-poster, complete with a full canopy. It was surrounded by billows of gauze, and the main curtains were made of heavy brocade. When her parents had bought it for her on her tenth birthday, Irene had thought the bed was quite magical. She could draw all the curtains around, and create her own safe place. Not that she’d ever really felt safe in this house. Not that the fear had ever really gone away, no matter where she was or who she was with. 

The curtains were too bulky to be pushed far enough out of the way. As she sat there, Irene found herself irritably shouldering them back behind her, for the brocade was so heavy and stiff that they crowded her. Perhaps she was older now, and taller, and there was just no room here for her anymore. 

She considered them, looked at the swirls of dark colors and found them stifling. Looked at the whole arrangement and found it confining, constraining. Standing, Irene drank a mouthful of the tea. Chamomile was meant to be soothing, but she found it clear and fresh and stimulating. She tugged at one of the curtains. They were quite old by now, and when she looked up into the canopy Irene saw that the curtains weren’t as solidly fastened as they appeared. Something within her clicked over, something inside of her changed, something that would never turn back, and she made a decision. 

Moving quickly, Irene put the mug safely out of the way on the chest of drawers, grabbed one of the brocade curtains in both hands, yanked down on it with one hard swift movement – and it came free! 

She let the curtain drop to the floor, and hauled down the next one. The brocade wasn’t so restraining after all. The defeated curtain puddled around her feet on the carpet, and already the whole room was lighter and felt more like her own. It was easy, really. 

That was it, of course – she was an adult, and she needed a far bigger space now, a better safe place, one in which she needn’t feel trapped. Irene shifted around to the far side of the bed, and began ripping down the suffocating gauze curtains, too. 

Then a noise startled her out of her preoccupation, a rattle or a scatter of something hard. Irene frowned. The silence had returned, so she searched back through her memory to replay the sound. She couldn’t quite identify the noise, but one thing was certain – her heart was pounding, though not quite in fear. Her heart was pounding in delicious hope, though that was scary enough in its own right. The sound had somehow been unexpected and familiar all at once. 

What on earth had it been? The noise had seemed to come from just near her window, though that seemed unlikely because her bedroom was on the second floor. And the silence had remained unbroken since then. Dismissing the matter as the result of an overactive imagination, Irene picked up the mug, sipped at the tea, and surveyed her bed. ‘What next?’ she silently asked herself. 

Kicking the curtains lying on the floor out of the way, Irene settled back down on the foot of her bed. The whole room felt far better now. 

But there was the noise again, and Irene immediately looked across at the window. There must be something out there, she decided, for she definitely hadn’t imagined that. All she could see, however, with the shutters half-closed, were the Winter-bare trees and the snow and the streetlamps. 

Irene put the mug back down on the chest of drawers, and headed over to the window. Warily, she folded the shutters back out of the way, and peered out through the glass. Nothing. She opened up the window to get a better look. There were eaves running around the house just below the level of the second floor windows, eaves that became the front verandah roof, and maybe a neighbor’s cat had been trapped up there. Nothing. Grasping each side of the window, she leaned out into the cold darkness. A dog was barking nearby, perhaps sensing something was wrong. 

And a hand reached up for the sill. 

Thoroughly startled, Irene straightened up, and she hit the back of her head on the window-frame. ‘Oh,’ she moaned, both of her own hands clutching at the hurt. 

A familiar face lifted up from under the eaves. And it was, of course, Ray Vecchio hanging there fifteen feet above the hard Winter ground. ‘Sorry,’ he offered, seeing what he’d made her do. 

‘Damn it!’ she whispered at him furiously. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? You scared me half to death.’ 

‘The signal,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d remember the signal.’ 

Ah, yes pebbles thrown against the windowpane. She leaned closer to him, confronting him, feeling mad and scared and foolish all at once. ‘That was over fifteen years ago. Are you insane?’ 

Perhaps he was taken aback by her reaction, for he slipped a little, lost one hand’s grip on the eaves. As he let out an ‘Oof’ of dismay, Irene surmised that Ray’s feet must have slid off the vine below. 

‘No… Oh, get in here,’ she pleaded, abruptly forgetting her fury, ‘get in. Come on,’ she added as she grasped his hand, ‘I’ve got you.’ 

‘OK,’ Ray was gasping, ‘OK, pull.’ And she was shushing him and dragging him across the sill, and he was groaning and begging her, ‘Pull!’ and he was scrabbling around with his feet – and somehow they managed to get him halfway inside. ‘OK,’ he repeated as he got a hold of the edge of the window-seat. And from there he hauled himself in without too much more drama. 

Irene discovered she was laughing as Ray collapsed to her floor. ‘Oh my God,’ she murmured, voice trembling with the craziness of it all. 

‘Yeah,’ he was whispering, now that he was safe, ‘oh my God…’ 

They had ended up on the floor at the foot of her bed. She was sitting there beside him, with her legs tucked under her, pulling her t-shirt down her bare thighs in a vague attempt at modesty. By contrast, Ray was fully and very properly dressed, all done up in his blue uniform. As he slowly eased up to prop himself against the bedpost, she said it again, ‘Oh my God,’ and shook his shoulder with one hand. ‘You are such an idiot,’ she added fondly. 

They were both grinning, and breathing hard from their exertions, and every now and then when it all seemed too much they would laugh. 

Common sense slowly returning, Irene got up to fasten the window, shutting out the cold night air, and then she walked over to close the bedroom door, protecting them both from the rest of the world. She shushed him again, lifting a hand to her lips, knowing that he’d remember it would be rather unwise to disturb anyone in this household. 

As Irene sat down beside him again, Ray said, ‘You know… that vine out there is dead. You should have somebody cut it down.’ 

Already nodding before he’d finished speaking, Irene responded, ‘I know. My father tried twice, but it grew back. You watch – by Spring it will be flowering again.’ 

He murmured happily, ‘Such faith you have.’ 

They gazed at each other some more, becoming a little more serious now, and perhaps they were both looking for all the changes that fifteen years inevitably wrought, and also looking for what was still familiar, looking for those things that would never change. 

‘I can’t believe how beautiful you are,’ Ray said. ‘How do you do that?’ 

‘You want me to tell you _all_ my secrets?’ 

‘Oh yeah…’ he breathed, ‘but let’s save that for later. You know, I thought I’d idealized you, I thought my memories must be playing tricks on me. And now I find they weren’t.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Irene said with genuine gratitude. 

‘I guess you must be disappointed in me, though, huh? The years haven’t been so kind to me.’ 

She chuckled. ‘ _Au contraire, mon ami_. You were always a handsome kid, and you have matured into a beautiful man.’ 

‘Yeah, right,’ Ray responded dryly. ‘Irene, that’s how I always knew you loved me. No one else ever called me handsome except my Ma.’ 

‘Plenty of girls did, Romeo. But I wasn’t going to tell you that, was I?’ 

‘Now you’re flattering me beyond all reason.’ 

‘Huh.’ Irene ran a light hand back over his shorn hair, feeling it tickle her palm. ‘You think that just anyone can carry this kind of haircut off with such style? You are beautiful, Ray Vecchio.’ She sat there watching the man, contemplating his bold features and his warm hazel eyes, dwelling on his bruised mouth and his split lip. And then she looked deeper to see that there was something unhappy and reckless in him despite the evident joy of being there with her. ‘If you really want my considered opinion,’ Irene eventually said, ‘I honestly think you’re beautiful, but right now – you also look like hell.’ 

Ray let out a gusty sigh, and then he laughed. ‘Thanks.’ 

Quietly and carefully she asked, ‘It’s that cop who died, huh? He was one of your friends? I’m sorry that I didn’t get to meet him at the restaurant. I’m sorry…’ 

Apparently there was nothing Ray could possibly say about this. His head drifted to one side to rest against the bed, though he didn’t try to hide his face from Irene. He looked incredibly sad. 

Trying to comfort him, Irene lifted gentle fingers to his brow. ‘Oh, you’re so cold!’ she exclaimed, pulling back. She grasped at one of his hands, and it felt like ice. ‘I’ll get you warm again.’ Hauling up one of the discarded curtains, Irene used it to begin bundling the man up. He was definitely bringing out the mother in her. ‘Come here,’ she murmured soothingly, impatiently, ‘come here, come here.’ 

Ray was laughing. ‘Well, you know, what do you expect? It’s snowing outside.’ 

‘I know. Come here.’ And he was happily letting himself be bundled, letting himself be taken care of – that was nice. Irene put both arms around him, hugging him through the curtains, trying to give him all her warmth. So… this man liked being mothered, and he still adored his Ma, and that was all just fine by Irene. 

‘Wow,’ said Ray as he looked down at the brocade. He was grinning broadly again, the sadness left behind though not forgotten. ‘Yeah, l remember these,’ he murmured. ‘I always liked these.’ 

Irene couldn’t help it – she giggled, mischievous as a schoolgirl. 

Lifting his head to look at her directly, Ray let the laughter fall away from him, though when he spoke his tone was still quite humorous. ‘You were the only girl I ever knew who slept in a tent.’ 

‘And that was information you should never have had.’ 

‘Well,’ he replied in his lovely tuneful voice, ‘I never told a soul.’ 

‘Yeah, right.’ There was no way Irene would believe this. She knew how boys behaved. ‘No one outside of the basketball team, maybe.’ 

The two of them looked at each other, and Ray slowly became so very serious as Irene challenged him with her gaze. He whispered, ‘I swear – I never told anyone.’ 

They considered each other some more, and then Irene shifted forward. Though they didn’t kiss, they rested there together forehead to forehead, and they shared the significance of that moment. Irene said, ‘Then I know you loved me, too, Ray.’ 

‘Did you ever doubt it?’ 

She let a few moments drift by, unwilling to lose the fragile mood, sad though it was, burdened with grief for what they used to have. Eventually Irene lifted her head and offered him another truth. ‘Sometimes it was easy to think that you wouldn’t have asked me to dance that first time, except you wanted to get up Frank’s nose.’ 

‘No, that’s not true,’ he protested gently. ‘Come on… he has nothing to do with how damned good you look in blue velvet. Or, for that matter, how damned good you look in nothing but a white t-shirt.’ Ray grinned, and asked in teasing tones, ‘You got anything on under that?’ 

‘That’s for me to know…’ 

‘…and for me to find out?’ he said oh-so-very hopefully. 

And it would be nice, Irene thought, and it wasn’t like they hadn’t done that before as teenagers, creating a bit of heaven up here despite the house being full of people who would be horrified to know what was going on right over their heads. But they were adults now, and there was plenty of time for that. Right at this moment what Irene most needed was to be very sure of this man. ‘Not tonight,’ she whispered. 

‘No, not tonight,’ he agreed, reluctant but more than understanding. 

It seemed that maybe Irene could be sure of him. Ever since he’d climbed in that window, Ray had been so open about how he was feeling, so vulnerable in trusting her with his grief and his love. 

Irene leaned forward to kiss him, initially careful of his hurt lip, though he responded to her so eagerly that she soon forgot about that. She held him close, all bundled up in her brocade curtains, and she ran a curious palm over his shorn head. It was quite magical. 

This man had always been so gentle with her, so caring. Even when they were both kids living through the awkward transition that was being seventeen and eighteen, he had always been so sweet. Sometimes, miraculously, the fear had gone away when Ray was with her, when Irene looked deep into his eyes and managed to forget about everything and everyone else for a little while. Could she have that again? It seemed she might. Ray wasn’t talking about the future, but there was something certain in his expression and his manner that meant he was thinking of it – or at least meant he was very much hers, here and now in the present. 

Ah, yes, Ray Vecchio hadn’t changed in essentials – if anything, he had matured into all that Irene once loved best about him. If she chose to be with him now, she figured he would give her the room to be who she was. The room to discover who she really was, and then to grow into that without being constrained by fear. The room to know she was loved for herself alone. Even the room to know that he would let her go if she wanted him to – and she knew that Ray had always found it difficult to let anyone or anything go. 

Irene sighed, smiling at Ray to convey her appreciation of all he was. There were few things she had been more sure of in her life. But she and Ray had plenty of time, they didn’t need to rush this, there wasn’t even a need to say the words or make the promises. It would happen. 

For now, all Irene needed was to kiss him again. 

♦

The night was late and ice-cold, and Fraser’s breath fogged as he walked along the street outside the Zuko house. He was quite comfortable, however, in his uniform and Stetson and woolen coat – and in any case he had his mind on other concerns. He had come to wander the neighborhood, looking for… anything. Anything that would help.

Fraser didn’t have to look for long. Which was just as well, for the Mountie would have been furious with his unofficial partner if Fraser had discovered where the cop was right then, if he had become aware of what Ray was doing. There was, after all, a line beyond which bravery became reckless stupidity. 

Directly across from the Zuko place was another two-story home. And on the upper floor was a large window, well-lit and uncurtained. A young man was up there, head bent, working away at something despite the lateness of the hour. 

Fraser lifted his brow, wondering if it would indeed be this easy. He walked up the steps to the house’s front door, and knocked. The young man came down to answer. ‘Yes?’ 

‘Ah, excuse me. Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP. I couldn’t help noticing that you have rather a good view of the house across the street.’ 

‘Yes,’ the fellow agreed with a wariness that indicated he knew who and what the occupants of that house were. 

Giving the man a reassuring smile, Fraser continued, ‘I wonder if you could tell me anything about what happened there two nights ago.’ 

‘All right, I can try. Do you want to come in?’ And it seemed Fraser need look no further. 

♦

If the West Side of Chicago had an aristocracy, Ray reflected, it was the Zuko family. And if they had a princess, it was Irene. 

Back when they were teenagers, the other girls had all been envious of Irene, for she had everything they thought was important. Not only did she possess the essential externals of clothes, riches and position – Irene also had beauty, self-possession, and the cleverness that ran in the Zuko family. 

Actually, she was more than just clever – she was smart in a way that had nothing to do with the self-interested cunning patented by the Zuko men. Irene was in the same year at school as Frank and Ray. Her brother insisted it was because she’d been born a scant ten months after him, and he’d been born so late in the year he was unfairly held over. Ray suspected it was because she was one hell of a lot brainier than any of them. 

Anyway, what the other kids didn’t know about was Irene’s terror. 

Ray often figured that if anyone really knew her, they wouldn’t envy her at all, for underneath all that beautiful cool composure she was terrified of her father and her brother – she lived in perfectly justifiable terror of them, that was no understatement. Carl and Frank hurt people, that was the hard truth of the matter, and every now and then Irene had bruises she couldn’t explain away. 

That was Irene’s secret. And Ray had understood, because he had a father to be afraid of, too, he had bruises that he blamed on rough basketball games. 

One of the most vital lessons of Ray’s life had been that men don’t have to be like Salvatore Vecchio or Carl Zuko or Frank Zuko. It had been tough learning that, while growing up in this neighborhood. There were so few examples of men he’d prefer to model himself after – really only a couple of the priests and the teachers, and the older brother of a friend – and sometimes Ray just had to make it up as he went along. 

Frank Zuko was more an example of what Ray didn’t want to be. Ray hated everything Frankie was, and had done ever since that day when they were fourteen years old, and Frank had dribbled a ball into Marco Matrani’s face until it resembled a rather unappetizing blueberry pie. The hate had changed somewhat on a different basketball court, on a more recent day, when Ray Vecchio finally beat up on Frank Zuko and discovered what he should have known all along – that Zuko was a coward. Pity had taken the edge off of the hate. The trouble was, corner a coward and he could become incredibly dangerous. 

And maybe Frank hated everything that Ray was, too. They had always taken a great deal of bitter pleasure in annoying the hell out of each other, after all. Ray couldn’t get away from the fact that he probably would have asked Irene to dance that first time just to make Frank mad. However, the fact was that seeing her there looking so sweet in her blue velvet dress, Ray would have asked her to dance no matter who she was. 

It was all tied up together, though – Irene was Frank’s sister, and every time Ray thought about the whole thing there was no denying the three-way links of love and of hate. Ray and Irene’s relationship had ended up being far more than just something to annoy Frank, but it was still partly that. Frankie’s fury had both enhanced and tainted what Irene and Ray shared. So, when it came right down to it, Ray would really rather Irene had been born to a different family. If she had, then maybe those kids of hers would be his as well, and maybe she wouldn’t be looking for a divorce right now. 

But, then, how could he wish Irene was anything other than exactly who she was? One of the reasons Irene had been so damned important to him was because Ray had tried to be something different for her – she had been his reason and his inspiration and his guide. God only knew she didn’t need another man like Salvatore or Carl or Frank in her life. Instead, Ray tried to be something closer to what she deserved, something better than what she expected. 

And it was a mutual thing. Ray tried to be a comfort for Irene, a safe harbor – and she was that for him, too. He would run away from it all, climb in through her bedroom window and leave the whole world out there, then bury himself within her. Sometimes that meant sex, sure. Often it meant simply lying there in her arms, his head resting against the haven of her breasts. 

Ray wondered now if Irene had been terrified of her husband, too, or if she’d managed to make a wiser choice – though it hadn’t worked out, anyway, for whatever reason. Maybe she could make a better choice now… 

Oh, Irene Zuko wasn’t his first girlfriend, she wasn’t the first girl Ray had been fond of, or liked, or kissed – and she wasn’t even his only love. Ray had loved other women since Irene, loved them dearly. But Irene Zuko was Ray Vecchio’s first true love. Yes, she was his first, though not his only, true love – and she became his first lover, and he was her first, too. Right now Ray was feeling all the significance of that, all the honor that was due a man’s first. 

And right now Ray Vecchio was also feeling like he’d found a little piece of heaven on earth, for Irene Zuko had wrapped him up in her brocade curtains and her elegant arms, and she just wouldn’t stop kissing him. 

♦

After some contemplation Benton Fraser was at last fitting together the major elements of the case – he certainly had the broad picture now, though he had to admit that he was still missing a few of the details. He had one more place to visit, but then he could return to the police station and discuss the situation with Lieutenant Welsh. 

With Diefenbaker at his heels, Fraser walked along a string of shops on Harlem Street. He had visited this area before with Ray, on a number of occasions. In fact, Joey Paducci’s shoe-repair shop was just back round the corner from here, on Belmont. 

The shop Fraser was looking for this time was the Harlem Tobacconist. And it would be hard to miss, he soon discovered, as the sign out the front was painted in bright reds and pinks and greens, with the shop’s name in large white lettering. It was also the only shop on the block that was still open – when Fraser had phoned ahead, the store-owner had simply muttered something about related late-night business, which meant very little to the Mountie. Having swept an assessing gaze over the place, Fraser asked Dief to wait for him, and the human went inside. 

The wolf was quite frankly getting a little tired of being left behind on cold snow-laden sidewalks. He sat there watching the Mountie talking to the shop-keeper, standing there in the warmth. There was really no good reason why Dief couldn’t be in there with him. 

A woman jogged past with four dogs of greatly varying sizes on leashes, and the wolf was distracted. The dogs were all barking, happy and rambunctious. No doubt this little group was heading somewhere warm, some place with plenty of food and room to run – no doubt the woman provided just the right amount of fond attention, that could be wallowed in or ignored depending on a wolf’s mood. Dief growled disconsolately as the dogs turned the far comer, and then the wolf settled again. 

A man strode past Dief and into the shop. With a nod at the shop-keeper, the man headed through a back door where Dief sensed some activity. Not noticing this, Fraser was apparently wanting a wooden box in exchange for those colored scraps of paper that humans valued so highly. The Mountie began counting out the required bits of paper, but the shop-keeper reached out and simply took the lot. Fraser nodded, accepting this – and the wolf figured that maybe his human had been a sap yet again. 

Picking up the box, Fraser also slid something small into his pocket, and he walked over to the glass door. The human was just in time to hold the door open for a woman and her afghan hound. Now, that was one lovely dog, Dief thought – she looked quite aristocratic, with her long pale silky coat, and her tail held up high in an elegant curve. Dief growled his appreciation. The lady was fine, too, bundled up in a dark fur coat – the wolf really would have thought the Mountie would pay more attention to such things. But, no, Fraser came out of the shop and headed off down the sidewalk, box tucked under one arm. 

At last Fraser realized he was walking alone. When he glanced back, Fraser found that Diefenbaker had apparently been thoroughly mesmerized by the sight of a beautiful dog. Well, it was no good calling him under the circumstances, for Dief wouldn’t hear him. After a moment, Fraser headed back, stood firmly in the wolf’s line of sight, and cordially invited Dief to join him. With a brief whine of protest, the wolf stood, and then he trotted off at Fraser’s side as if that had been his intention all along. 

Ah, wolves, thought Benton Fraser – they could be such frustrating creatures, unless a man knew how to handle them properly. 

♦

Ray Vecchio let out a contented little moan. He was cuddled up in the comfort of Irene Zuko’s arms, sitting there at the foot of her bed, and she was kissing him, and everything was just wonderful. 

But eventually Irene pulled away, her fingers lingering to caress Ray’s chin for a few blessed moments. When she spoke her tone was slow and deliberate, as if she was telling him something vital. ‘This was really stupid of you,’ Irene said, ‘coming up here. You know how stupid it was.’ 

‘Stupid is what I do best,’ Ray replied with a smile. 

‘No, don’t say that.’ 

‘I like to take chances, you said that the other night.’ 

‘Brave chances, Ray, not stupid ones.’ Irene tilted her head. ‘Frank is going to get crazy over this.’

The mere mention of Frank Zuko’s name darkened the warmth they’d been creating. Ray turned away, his smile fading as he recalled losing Louis and arresting Zuko and arguing with Fraser. He wondered what kind of trouble Frank would cause when Ray made his intentions clear regarding Irene. Shifting to sit up by himself, Ray muttered, ‘Yeah, well, let him.’ 

Irene was silent for a moment, but then she turned away, too, and let out a harsh breath. ‘You know what?’ she said flatly, rising to her feet. ‘Go home, Ray. Just go home, all right?’ 

The mood between them was apparently more fragile than Ray had thought it – or maybe there would always be the danger of Frank ruining things for him and Irene. Ray struggled out of the curtains, and stood up. ‘What, what?’ he cried. ‘The little prince is going to throw a royal tantrum…?’ 

‘Don’t!’ Irene said, interrupting him. ‘Don’t.’ And then she fell to whispering again, not wanting to disturb anyone else. ‘Don’t talk about him like that in his own house, OK?’ 

‘I thought it was your house, too.’ 

‘It is,’ Irene quickly asserted, busying herself picking up the curtains from the floor. It seemed she was trying not to cry. 

‘Yeah, but only in name, and that doesn’t matter, right?’ Ray said. ‘It’s really Frank’s house, and it always will be, because nothing changes. You’re still scared of him, you’ve always been scared of him, just like you were scared of your old man.’ 

Irene turned to face him, adamant. ‘Hey, how I deal with my own family is _none_ of your business.’ 

‘Meanwhile, they keep going around killing people, and I’ve got to turn the other cheek because I’m in love with you.’ 

‘No!’ she cried out. ‘No, no, no. Don’t tell me that, Ray, because you never turned the other cheek when it came to Frank. You’d still be going after him even if it weren’t for me. You two have been going at each other since you were kids.’ 

Ray told her the hard truth. ‘Your brother is a murderer, Irene. You’ve known that, you’ve always known that.’ 

‘He did not kill that cop,’ she replied, pleading for reason. ‘He was in this house that night, and you know it!’ 

‘So what?’ 

‘That makes no difference to you? How can that make no difference to you?’ 

‘My friend is dead,’ Ray said, and he let his mourning color his voice for the first time. 

Irene paused, respectful, but then she whispered, ‘Frank didn’t do it.’ 

They had been talking face to face, but now in his grief and his anger Ray turned away and took a few steps. 

From behind him, Irene continued, ‘Ray, he’s my brother.’ 

Ray sighed, and eventually he turned back around again to see her. ‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sorry.’ Knowing the conflict in Irene’s loyalties, it had been pointless to argue with her over what had happened. He had managed to do better than that, in the past, keeping his hate for Frank and his love for Irene as separate as he could. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Ray said, walking back to be close to her again. ‘I didn’t come here to get into this with you.’ 

Irene lifted her head and met his gaze again, self-possessed and honest despite the fact she was even closer to tears than he was. ‘What did you come for?’ 

Ray whispered, ‘I came for you.’ He shifted closer, and she let him slip his arms around her slim waist. ‘I love you.’ Irene let out the saddest sigh, and they rested together forehead to forehead again. ‘I’ve always loved you,’ Ray said. 

‘This is never going to end.’ She sounded close to despair, so Ray gathered Irene up even closer and tucked his head in against her shoulder. Her arms circled his shoulders and hung on, perhaps seeking his strength. ‘This is never going to end,’ Irene repeated. ‘You’re going to end up killing each other first.’ 

‘No, no, no,’ he murmured, trying to comfort her but knowing her fear was quite justifiable. 

‘What’s more important to you? Being Frank’s enemy or my friend?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ Ray replied, the anguish beginning to tear at him. ‘I’m both of those things. I think I have to be both. Are you going to ask me to choose?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ she echoed helplessly, and then they just held onto each other for a while.

♦

Frank Zuko was sitting in an interrogation room at the police station with no companion except for his lawyer, and everyone knew lawyers had no sense of humor, it was drummed out of them during law school. Although Frank supposed a dull lawyer was better company right now than a vengeful cop. This whole situation had slipped far beyond tedious some hours ago, and the way it was going it seemed Frank would be here overnight, and he was not happy about any of that. 

Eddie the grey-haired old lawyer had his hand on Frank’s shoulder, and was explaining, ‘They continue to insist on holding you, though that will only be until tomorrow when we get this before a judge, and bail is set. You need to tell me how much you can afford, so I’ll know what to argue for.’ 

‘That’s not an issue,’ Frank said, waving a dismissive hand. He felt like telling Eddie to save the dry earnest manner for court where it would be appreciated, but the lawyer probably had no other way of expressing himself.

‘Meanwhile, I’m trying to get you into County, where they have proper facilities, but I’m not getting much cooperation.’ 

‘Of _course_ you’re not getting much cooperation,’ Zuko retorted impatiently. ‘I’m surrounded by a hundred cops who want me dead. They’ve finally got their chance, and they’re not going to let me out of here if they can help it.’ 

There was a knock, and the door of the interrogation room opened. Frank turned to see the Mountie walk in, looking very solemn in his brown uniform, and carrying a box of cigars in one hand. 

The lawyer took a step or two towards the intruder, no doubt about to warn him off, but Frank reassured him, ‘It’s OK. He’s OK.’ Smiling at Fraser, Zuko asked, ‘Has your friend come to his senses yet?’ 

Interestingly enough, Fraser didn’t pretend not to know what Frank meant, and he didn’t bother trying to define Ray’s behavior differently. ‘No,’ the Mountie said, ‘I’m afraid not.’ 

Leaning down close to speak in confidentiality, the lawyer murmured, ‘Frank, be careful. And you know you don’t have to –’ 

‘Eddie,’ Zuko said, interrupting him. ‘Just do me a favor, and go make yourself useful elsewhere, all right?’ 

At last the lawyer walked out, briefcase in hand, no doubt ready, willing and able to continue making a complete nuisance of himself with the Lieutenant and the Commander. 

As the door closed behind him, Fraser came to sit at the table. Frank watched the Mountie carefully, though he didn’t bother turning to face the man directly. Fraser placed the cigar box on the table in front of him, and opened it up. There were a number of items inside, but the first thing Fraser lifted out was a cigar wrapped in cellophane. 

Frank grinned appreciatively. ‘My favorites. Good memory, Constable.’ 

‘Well, I like to study people’s habits.’ Fraser took off the cellophane, and lifted the cigar in one hand as if it was Exhibit A. ‘For example, this is your brand, Mr. Zuko, hand-rolled to your own specifications.’ 

Happy to stipulate to this fact, Zuko said, ‘Yes, it is.’ Though he couldn’t help reflecting that habits betrayed a man by making him predictable. 

‘And before smoking it,’ the Mountie continued, ‘you cut off the tip.’ He slid a familiar circular cutter out of its little leather pouch. ‘Like this.’ 

As Fraser demonstrated this, letting the tip of the cigar fall to the table, Frank began taking him more seriously. The man had obviously gone to some trouble to make a point here, and Zuko wasn’t sure what that point would prove to be. Wary now, Frank didn’t offer any agreement this time – but Fraser nodded for him. 

‘Now, our friend the bomb-maker, who was recently arrested in this matter – he also has his habits, Mr. Zuko. He tells me that he likes to use an articulating set of wire-snippers.’ The Mountie reached into the cigar box and picked up a large implement by its bright red handles, and he showed it to Frank. 

‘Exhibit C,’ Zuko muttered dryly. 

‘Yes, if you like. We found these wire-snippers in his room, so I assume that he is telling the truth.’ Fraser produced a coil of plastic-coated wire, loosened one end from the little bundle, and then cut a piece off that end with the wire-snippers. He held the coil of wire out for Frank to examine. ‘There, you see. It’s a very straight cut.’ 

Taking Exhibit D, Frank looked at it impatiently, still unsure where the Mountie was going with this. 

‘A clean cut like that makes the wire very easy to attach to a detonator. This is a professional man.’ Fraser nodded again, as if he appreciated a task done well no matter what that actual task was, and then he continued, ‘Our bomb-maker has other habits. He likes to tie double knots at either end of the wire he uses.’ 

Fraser picked up a sealed evidence bag. There was a piece of wire inside it, with two knots at one end. 

‘This was found at the bomb-site. Now, because of his habits, we could easily assume that this is our bomb-maker’s work. However, this wire was cut using a different implement.’ 

Drawing Zuko’s attention to one end of the piece of wire, Fraser raised his brow. It was quite clear that the cut was not the straight and clean result of the articulated wire-snippers. 

‘So,’ the Mountie continued, ‘either our bomb-maker has changed his habits, or –’ 

Fraser set the evidence bag aside and picked up the coil of wire again, then cut off one end of the coil with the cigar cutter. 

‘Well, now,’ said Constable Fraser. ‘Isn’t that strange.’ 

The coil of wire, and the piece of wire in the evidence bag, were both handed over to Frank for him to compare. The cut Fraser had just made with the cigar cutter was indeed rougher, and it matched the cut end of the wire found at the bomb-site. 

‘It’s particularly strange for a bomb-maker who doesn’t smoke.’ 

How fascinating, thought Frank – this evidence, which at first seemed so damning, was open to an interpretation that led away from Zuko. He shifted so that he was sitting straight on to the table, so that he could talk directly to the Mountie. ‘I like your thinking, Constable. What’s your point?’ 

‘Your tobacconist tells me that he doesn’t sell very many of these.’ Fraser lifted the cigar cutter. ‘They’re too expensive. In fact, you are apparently his only customer for this item, and have been for some time. He told me that you give most of them away as gifts.’ 

‘Yeah. So?’ 

‘The police didn’t plant the detonator caps in your backyard,’ the Mountie said, as firmly as if he knew that for a fact. ‘Whoever cut this wire planted them.’ 

‘Who?’ Frank asked, leaning forward. It seemed that Fraser had all the answers. 

But the Mountie simply gave a little shrug. ‘I can’t imagine.’ He looked down at the table, began slowly packing all the paraphernalia back into the cigar box. And Fraser asked quietly, ‘Can you?’ 

The answer seemed obvious, given all the trouble that had been happening lately. ‘Yes, I can. The Dorrio brothers.’ 

Fraser didn’t lift his head. ‘Are they on your list?’ 

Frank Zuko laughed. ‘Not _that_ one.’ 

Taking a deep breath, the Mountie sat back with his arms folded, and then Fraser looked levelly at Frank. ‘Well, then. I believe that you have a problem.’ Obviously choosing his words and his tone carefully, Fraser suggested, ‘Perhaps it is somebody closer to you. Someone who is on your gift list. Someone who has an interest in pushing you out of the way.’ 

Considering this rather unsettling idea, Frank took a second guess. ‘Who, then? Charlie?’ For he was perfectly aware that the old man had never thought very much of Carl Zuko’s son. 

‘No. His arches have fallen,’ the Mountie said very smoothly, though this indicated that he knew Charlie better than most people did. ‘I understand that he is retiring.’ 

And Frank suddenly saw the answer, and he knew this time that it was true. He wondered vaguely whether Constable Benton Fraser had also reached the same conclusion, whether old Charlie had also guessed, whether Frank himself was the last to spot this betrayal. What a blind trusting fool he’d been. Well, all right – but this was Frank’s problem to deal with now. Zuko said in the fiercest of tones, ‘Are you trying to turn me against my own people?’ 

Fraser seemed surprised by this loud resentment, as if he’d expected his good buddy Frank to now name names for him. 

‘You’re trying to turn me against people who are loyal to me? Huh? You’re a cop, Mountie, stay out of my business.’ 

A furious silence lengthened. And Eddie the lawyer walked in without knocking. At least he looked happy. ‘Come on, Frank,’ he said. ‘You need to talk to Lieutenant Welsh, but then you’re free to leave. Somebody just did you a big favor.’ 

Frank Zuko and Benton Fraser stared at each other with a difficult truth between them, glared at one another across this strange understanding they shared. And how dare Fraser be right about this, Frank fumed – what was the world coming to when Frank could trust a Mountie’s word over the word of one of his own people. 

Grabbing up his coat, Frank stood, gathered his dignity around him, and strode out through the door that Eddie held open for him. 

♦

It was late, but after Ray left Irene he didn’t feel much like going home. There was no way he would sleep, after all, for his thoughts and his plans and his dreams had been making him restless for days now, and the trouble showed no signs of settling for a long while yet. 

So, Ray Vecchio headed for the police station, and he walked into the squad room to find a fraught atmosphere. Most of the Violent Crimes unit were there, and a few uniformed officers and plain-clothes detectives had joined them – and the lot were all standing around, silently and grimly staring at Welsh’s office. 

Jack Huey was there in the middle of the squad room, sitting with his rear propped on a desk, looking rather aggrieved. Ray headed over to him, and asked, ‘What’s happening?’ 

‘The Mountie,’ Huey replied unhappily, indicating the Lieutenant’s office. ‘He’s in there with Zuko and the State’s Attorney.’ 

Frowning, Ray tried to make out the figures through the off-kilter venetian blinds on Welsh’s windows. There was the Lieutenant and Fraser – and the lovely Louise St Laurent, State’s Attorney. With them was the unmistakable form of Frank Zuko, and some old guy who was probably Zuko’s lawyer. And there was also some younger man there, whom Ray didn’t recognize. He began to ask, ‘But what’s going on –’ 

Welsh’s door opened, and Zuko came out, shrugging on his coat. The old guy was at his shoulder, expression pleased. When Frank saw Ray, he broke into the broadest and cheekiest of grins. 

Ray glared in reply. ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ the cop asked as the mobster strode past him, making for the door of the squad room. 

St Laurent and Fraser had followed Zuko out of the office. Louise told Ray, ‘His alibi’s been confirmed. He’s free to go.’ 

From his doorway, Welsh explained, ‘He was at home, like he said. The kid saw him there.’ And with a few muttered orders, Welsh had one of the detectives escort the young guy off to make a formal statement. 

‘What?’ Huey spat out, expressing everyone’s utter disbelief. 

Zuko paused on his way out of the squad room to cheerfully say, ‘Thanks again, Constable.’ And then, catching Ray’s renewed glare, Frank added, ‘See you later, Ray.’ The mobster was flying high – he held out his left hand, sighting along it, miming the firing of a gun right at Ray’s heart, _bang_ , like back when they were kids. 

Ray turned away, trying not to listen to the laughter and the footsteps and the slamming door that meant Frank Zuko was walking free. And there was Fraser, standing stranded somewhere behind St Laurent. Voice raw, Ray asked the Mountie, ‘You’re helping Zuko now? Is this what you call justice?’ 

‘Yes,’ said Fraser oh-so-calmly. 

‘You know, Zuko buys that kind of justice. Is that what happened here?’ 

Even that accusation caused nary a blink. ‘No,’ said the Mountie. ‘Zuko didn’t kill Louis.’ 

‘And what did you base that conclusion on?’ Huey asked furiously. ‘Mud?’ The Detective got up and advanced on Fraser. ‘Did you lick the mud off his boots, and that told you?’ Huey was right in Fraser’s face now, and the Mountie just stood there as impervious as if he was on guard duty. In frustration, Huey cried, ‘Answer me!’ 

St Laurent had followed him over, and now reached for Huey’s shoulder, clutching at his jacket in one hand and shaking it, trying to grab his attention. ‘Don’t take this out on him,’ she said, low and fierce. ‘This was shoddy police-work. You didn’t even canvas the neighborhood.’ The State’s Attorney worried at the man’s jacket again, endeavoring to get through to Huey. ‘What were you thinking – that no one would?’ 

Ray let out an angry breath and considered the woman. Louise St Laurent was as fiery as her red hair, and he’d always liked her whether she was smoldering or flaming. This was a woman he’d been trying to date for months, and they’d meshed so well together when they finally got around to it one recent Saturday night – but it seemed Ray and Louise were planets apart now, which was no doubt just as well, for Irene Zuko had come back to Chicago. 

‘So, that’s it?’ Ray asked Louise. ‘Frank Zuko walks? We’re meant to be on the same team here.’ 

‘Oh, believe me, we are,’ she replied. ‘We’ll get him on conspiracy. His phone’s tapped, and we have a surveillance truck on his house twenty-four hours a day. We’ll get him on a charge that will stick.’ She was furious and determined, and that was fine – but Ray knew that it wasn’t enough when dealing with the Zukos of this world. 

Ray said, ‘That could take weeks, waiting for him to let slip something incriminating.’ 

Welsh finally called an end to this stand-off. ‘All right – Vecchio, Huey, in my office.’ And he turned away, hands thrust deep in his pockets, expecting the two Detectives to follow him. 

‘Goodbye, Louise,’ Ray said as she walked past. And perhaps one day in a week or two when this wasn’t quite so terrible anymore, he would call her and attempt to explain. But for now, what he needed for all kinds of reasons was to make this a clear farewell. 

She paused to consider him, something flinty and something regretful in her eyes. And then she nodded. ‘Goodbye, Vecchio.’ And she was gone. 

‘Come on,’ Welsh was growling. ‘Don’t push it.’ 

But on his way over to his boss’s office, Ray stopped in front of his friend. His best friend. If Ray was annoyed by St Laurent’s betrayal, he was enraged by Fraser’s. That obstinate Mountie just refused to understand, and Ray couldn’t fathom why. ‘What is it with you, man?’ Ray asked. ‘You’ve got to know when to hold the line.’ 

And again Fraser just stood there weathering the anger and the disgust. For all an observer could tell, maybe the Mountie didn’t even hear it. 

‘You’ve got to know when to work to rule,’ Ray finished. And he pushed on past the man. 

Benton Fraser was left alone out there in the squad room. The door to the Lieutenant’s office was firmly closed against him. The men and women gathered around closer, staring at him, with hands propped on their hips, or arms crossed. 

It seemed these people were completely unimpressed by what Fraser had done. And, surprisingly enough, it didn’t help Fraser to know that he’d done the right thing. The thought that he’d done the right thing hadn’t helped him feel any better back when it was suggested it would be easier all round if he left Canada, either. Now his new friends and his unofficial colleagues here in Chicago despised him for the actions he’d taken, and Fraser couldn’t help but be hurt by that. Even Louis Gardino, Fraser reflected, would not have understood. 

Well, never mind all that, he told himself, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders. But, as Benton Fraser walked out of that squad room on his own, he felt as if the gazes were drilling holes through him.

♦


	6. Six

♦

Frank Zuko was at home again, in his den, with Charlie sitting there perched on Frank’s desk waiting to do his bidding. And yet Frank could not feel that things were going his way. It was a disturbing sensation, knowing that some part of his world was acting outside of his control. He had spent the last ten minutes ringing around a whole list of his people, trying to locate Michael Sorrento. 

‘I don’t _care_ ,’ Zuko blasted down the phone to the fool currently on the other end. ‘No, hold it right there – that’s not my problem, that’s your problem. I want _you_ to find him _now_. Got it?’ And he hung up with a crash. This was ridiculous, Frank silently fumed. 

Charlie stood up, expecting orders. 

‘Where the hell is he?’ Frank cried out in frustration. 

‘Out…’ the old man responded in a dry imitation of Sorrento, ‘keeping an eye on things.’ 

‘Don’t get smart with me, Charlie,’ Frank warned. 

Sitting down in the chair across Frank’s desk, Charlie’s manner seemed more insolent than ever. 

‘I need you now, OK?’ Frank said to him. ‘I know I can rely on you, my father relied on you every single damned day of his life.’ 

‘Sure, Mr. Zuko.’ 

Even this did not feel like the resounding reassurance it should have been. Frank let out a strangled yell, and paced back around his desk, badly wanting to hit something. So much fury, and the person he most wanted to direct it all at was not to be found. Who else could he call? 

♦

What Frank Zuko was unaware of was that Ray Vecchio and Jack Huey were sitting cramped up together in the surveillance van just down the street. Every phone call that Zuko made, and every conversation he had, was being listened to and recorded. Though even if he had known, in his rage maybe he wouldn’t have cared. 

♦

Benton Fraser was having far more luck than Frank Zuko. The Mountie had tracked Michael Sorrento down to the cafe where Fraser had played dominoes with Charlie. 

It wasn’t that Fraser didn’t feel shaken by the hostility he’d engendered in his friends and colleagues, but he had important work to be getting on with, so Fraser put his untoward and unproductive feelings behind him. Ah, yes – it was time to set the cat amongst the pigeons, as his grandmother used to say. 

Fraser and Diefenbaker walked into the cafe, and there was Sorrento, sitting at a table with three other men, all of them smoking cigars and drinking coffee. Taking off the Stetson, Fraser walked over to stand near the little group. The wary Sorrento had already seen him, and had alerted his companions to the Mountie’s presence. ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ Fraser greeted them. 

‘You must be lost,’ Sorrento commented. 

‘What makes you say that?’ Fraser asked politely. 

Sorrento gave a little half-shrug, as if the matter was obvious. ‘Intuition.’ 

Diefenbaker had been sitting there beside Fraser, staring up at Sorrento. The wolf let out a growl. 

‘Is this your guard dog?’ 

‘Well,’ said Fraser, ‘he’s a wolf, actually, not a dog.’ 

‘Is that right? Hey, buddy,’ Sorrento said to Dief, reaching down to pat him. 

The growl turned into a snarl, which conveyed something along the lines of, ‘I’m going to detach that hand and take it with me if you don’t withdraw it immediately.’ 

Fraser’s smile became genuine for a moment, though he wouldn’t have admitted as much to anyone, perhaps not even Ray. This was a definite contrast to Diefenbaker’s behavior with Charlie. Indeed, the wolf had seemed so comfortable with the older man that Fraser had begun to suspect that Dief would accept the invitation to retire with Charlie to Florida. 

Meanwhile, Michael Sorrento wisely removed his hand from Diefenbaker’s immediate vicinity. 

It was time for Fraser to progress his business with this man. Fraser announced, ‘I have a present for you from Mr. Zuko.’ He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the cigar cutter he’d bought, tucked away in its neat little leather pouch – and with a flourish Fraser put it down on the table in front of Sorrento. 

The two of them looked at each other, with the cigar cutter looming large between them. Fraser maintained his pleasant expression, while Sorrento was obviously taken aback. Apparently one of the things that threw him was the fact that the Mountie was running errands for Frank Zuko. ‘Are you on the payroll now?’ Sorrento asked with a skeptical lift of an eyebrow. 

‘Ah. No, I’m not,’ Fraser responded. ‘But Mr. Zuko and l discovered that we have some common concerns.’ 

Sorrento glanced down at the cigar cutter, looked back up at the Mountie, and then lifted his own cutter from where it lay on the table. ‘I already have one of these.’ 

‘Yes, well, Mr. Zuko thought yours might be damaged. You know,’ Fraser continued, ‘these really should not be used –’ and he looked into Sorrento’s eyes in order to best make his point – ‘to cut wire.’ 

The two of them contemplated each other some more. Sorrento was running his fingers smoothly over his original cutter, though he didn’t betray his nervousness in any other way. 

Still smiling, Fraser nodded politely. ‘Good night, gentlemen.’ 

Before the Mountie had taken more than two steps away from the table, Sorrento asked, ‘So, you and Frank have been spending time together?’ 

Fraser didn’t bother walking back to speak confidentially. He announced, ‘We have been, yes, but not anymore. Mr. Zuko has been released.’ 

It was apparent that the man was not a poker player, for Sorrento’s face darkened with foreboding. ‘Frank’s out?’ 

‘Yes. He was released an hour ago.’ With Dief at his heels, Fraser resumed walking out of the cafe – and without even bothering to turn his head in Sorrento’s direction, the Mountie said, ‘And I have a feeling that he’ll be looking for you.’ 

♦

Michael Sorrento watched the man go, unsettled by this unexpected messenger and this unwanted gift. So, it seemed that Frank had figured it all out – at least Sorrento had to assume as much. And the Mountie was involved, which was weird. Somehow, somewhere, Sorrento had miscalculated, he’d failed to take something into account. Maybe there was still an angle he could play – but the more he thought about it, the more inspiration stubbornly refused to strike. 

Lost in his meandering fears, the mobster didn’t notice the cafe’s phone ringing. But then the guy behind the bar called out, ‘Mr. Sorrento? It’s for you.’ And Michael knew exactly who it was. 

♦

Irene had settled after Ray had left. She had sat there again at the foot of her bed, wrapping herself up in one of the discarded curtains for warmth – and not in the mood any more for reading, she had lost herself in poignant thought about her life. It was quite a new thing, the idea that she could decide what to do with herself, and who to do it with, and where. This awesome idea had occurred to her about a year ago, and here she was divorced as a result of it. The trouble was, she’d come back to her brother’s house, where she was in danger of falling right back into the same old fearful dependence of her childhood. 

It had been a mistake. Irene thought she was coming home, but she had really returned to helplessness. 

Well, that was OK, she thought to herself. A person who was strong enough to make decisions was inevitably going to make a bad decision every now and then. She was so new to this, after all – she could let herself make a mistake, and learn from it, and then move on. She’d make a better decision next time. 

Ray would let her make her own decisions, Irene was certain of that. For all the pain of their disagreement that night, for all the difficulty of knowing they would never resolve that problem between them, at least Ray had argued with her like she was a person with her own convictions, her own loyalties. If it had been Frank, he would have just told her what to do and what to think. Yes, if she chose to be with Ray, it wouldn’t be a simple matter of giving herself and her life over to yet another man – it would be about deciding to be with someone who would give her the room to be who she wanted to be. And she had to think of the children, there was no way they should grow up in this place that had caused their mother so much harm. Irene and Ray could do far better than that for them. 

If she chose to be with Ray, it would be a good decision. 

Such optimistic contemplations had been disrupted by Frank’s return home. Irene didn’t bother going down to see him, there was no need – she could hear him clear as day, stomping around downstairs, yelling at Charlie, shouting down the phone. Absolutely furious, obviously. 

Irene wondered how the cops had been persuaded to let him go. It was a terrible thing, this police officer who had died, this friend of Ray’s who had been killed by a bomb set under Ray’s car. While Irene knew Frank had not made or planted that bomb, there was no getting away from the fact that the cop’s death was part of the life her brother led. And she had brought her children into the middle of all this. 

What was Frank making such a racket about now? It seemed he wanted someone found, it seemed he was unhappy with the slimy Michael Sorrento. And how could Irene live in this house with people like Charlie and Sorrento always coming and going at all hours of the day and night? Something was obviously going very wrong for Frank at the moment, and Irene knew from experience that when he thought himself crossed Frank would hurt everything and everyone around him, he’d keep blasting away regardless until finally satisfied that he was still king of the castle. 

Well, Irene had come to a decision that night, she might as well carry it out, she might as well do it right now. She could do the difficult part, and break herself free, and leave this horrible place behind. 

Irene stood up, let the brocade fall to the floor, and quickly rummaged around in the closet for jeans and a blouse. The kids would be all right. Her sister-in-law would take care of them tonight, and Frank wouldn’t hurt them or try to keep them here. She’d send for them tomorrow when she’d got a couple of things sorted out. Throwing a few items into an overnight bag – spare knickers and a proper nightdress, which were sensible, and her blue velvet gown, which was not – Irene felt a weight lift off her shoulders. This felt delightfully like freedom. 

Crazy, exciting idea, that she could just walk out that front door and never come back except under her own terms. 

She’d go find Ray. If he wasn’t home, she’d throw herself on Ma Vecchio’s mercy. ‘I want to defect,’ Irene whispered to herself. If that didn’t work – though it would, Ray’s mother was a lovely woman and would surely offer Irene every hospitality, at least until she could clarify the situation with her son – if that didn’t work Irene needed a contingency plan, and of course she could just check into a hotel, and call Ray at the police station in the morning. Simple. 

A hotel, for which she’d need her credit cards. Irene grinned wildly, realizing she’d been about to leave her wallet behind. A quick glance around the room while she shrugged on her Winter coat. There was nothing else she needed. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, said goodbye to all this, gathered her bravery, and walked out her bedroom door. 

♦

Of course, leaving this place was never going to be easy. As Irene reached the foot of the stairs, she heard Frank cry out, ‘Irene! What – Hey, where are you going?’ 

Damnation, she silently cursed – she hadn’t even got as far as the front door. As Irene spun around to face her brother, she tried to hide the overnight bag behind her. ‘I’m going to go see a movie, Frank.’ 

‘No, no,’ he said with a snort of laughter, as if he was amused by this attempted lie. ‘Wait.’ Frank came walking out of his den, with Charlie following along behind him. ‘A movie? Where’s the movie – Toledo?’ 

OK, so he had seen the bag, and anyway it was too late at night for a movie, that had been a weak thing to say. Irene took a breath, and decided to appeal to her brother with the truth. ‘Frank, I know that something is going on here, and I just…’ she faltered for a moment, but then managed to say, ‘I just don’t want any part of it.’ 

Frank was obviously angry, and not just at Irene but at the whole of his world. He was, however, talking in a manner that for Frank was quite reasonable. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You don’t need to worry yourself about any of that. That’s my business, it’s nothing to do with you, and you’re staying here.’ 

Charlie said, ‘Let me take her to a hotel.’ And that was definitely the first time Irene had ever felt gratitude towards the old man. 

However, Frank of course wouldn’t listen to this sensible suggestion. ‘Stay out of this, Charlie. She’s not planning on going to any hotel. She is running off to see her boyfriend.’ 

Thoroughly exasperated by his attitude, Irene cried out, ‘Oh, Frank…’ 

♦

Ray Vecchio, who was rather pleased to be referred to as Irene’s boyfriend, was listening to all this in the surveillance van. He smiled wryly. It seemed that poor little Frankie was jealous. 

♦

‘Isn’t that right?’ Frank was demanding. ‘Isn’t that right, Irene?’ 

Raising her voice, trying to match and better her brother’s determination, Irene said, ‘Frank, I just want to get of here, OK?’ 

‘Out of your own house?’ he asked in disbelief 

‘This is not my house, Frank!’ 

‘Of course it is, Irene. I’ve made this your home.’ 

But for once she managed to drown him out with her fury. ‘No, it is not _my_ house. It is _your_ house. Full of guns and full of fear and full of hate.’ She was shouting at him now – and though Frank was standing there completely still, his chest was rising and falling as if he was sprinting. ‘ _You_ stay here, Frank, but I’m not staying. You earned it, you inherited it, I don’t want any of it – you keep it.’ 

‘No.’ He strode around to stand in her way, to block the front door. ‘No, you are _not_ going to humiliate me like that.’ 

‘Oh, Frank…’ she said in despair. 

‘You are not going to run off and leave this house and climb into his bed.’ 

‘How can you even talk like that?’ 

But he wasn’t listening to her. ‘You are not going to go to another man.’ 

‘Frank, I’m not your goods and chattels, not anymore.’ 

‘I’m not going to have it, I won’t have it.’ 

‘Frank!’ Irene cried, demanding his attention. 

‘No, I won’t have it.’ 

So Irene yelled as loud as she could, right in his face. ‘Frank, get out of my way!’ 

He left a pause, no longer than a heartbeat, and then her brother said flatly, ‘I will kill you first.’ 

She couldn’t really believe he meant it, but the shock of him actually saying something like that to his own sister – Irene let out a sharp breath. Then her hand flew out and she slapped him. 

Barely even having to gather himself to do so, Frank slapped her in return – hard. And then Charlie was there hanging onto him with both arms, and Frank was scuffling around trying to get free. Maybe he really would have hurt her badly if he was able. ‘Don’t you –’ Frank was spluttering. ‘Don’t you _ever_ hit me. Do you hear me?’ 

‘I don’t hear you,’ she told him. ‘I won’t listen to you anymore.’ 

‘You bitch, don’t you _ever_ talk back to me again – I’ll kill you.’ 

Irene tossed her bag down into the corner of the front hall. This was useless, she was never going to get out of here tonight. Her brother was still struggling there in Charlie’s firm grasp. A second thing to be grateful to Charlie for. Irene said, low and fierce, ‘Go ahead, Frank, you do what you have to do.’ And she turned away, and headed back up the stairs. 

‘I’ll _kill_ you!’ 

‘Just go right ahead,’ she screamed down at him. And, belatedly realizing she had blood on her mouth from where Frank had hit her, Irene left her brother to Charlie. 

♦

It was too much to bear. Ray could sit there and listen to the Zuko siblings arguing, that just felt like business as usual with the little prince around. But Frank threatening to kill Irene, and in his rage meaning every word of it – that called for action. Especially given that Irene had been trying to leave the house, but had been turned back before she reached the front door. ‘I’ll _kill_ you!’ Ray tore off his headphones, and headed out of the surveillance van. 

‘Wait,’ Huey said. ‘Wait!’ 

Ray wasn’t waiting for anyone. Irene needed him. Unfortunately, however, as he slammed the rear door closed behind him, the Mountie showed up and stood firmly in Ray’s path. 

‘Get out of my way,’ the cop said. 

‘Ray.’ Surprisingly enough, Fraser grabbed Ray’s shoulders in both hands, forced Ray back against the van, and held him there. ‘Listen to me,’ the Mountie demanded. This was surprising, because Fraser was always rather reticent when it came to physical contact between friends – this man-handling in itself spoke eloquently of Fraser’s need to communicate. He said, ‘You are not thinking, Ray. And a police officer who doesn’t think is dangerous.’ 

Refusing to be bullied, emotionally or physically, Ray declared, ‘I know where you stand.’ They were close together there against the van, their breath fogging in each other’s faces. In his anger with this man who used to be his best friend, Ray didn’t bother avoiding eye contact – neither of them did. 

‘No, you do not know where I stand,’ Fraser replied, crisply enunciating each word. ‘You used to know, you used to stand there, too, but in your hate you’ve forgotten.’ There was something in Fraser’s tone that indicated this plea was coming from a deeper place than his usual earnestness. ‘You are so full of hate right now, Ray, that all you can see is Frank Zuko. He’s all you’ve been able to see right from the beginning. If he were the only person involved in this, it wouldn’t matter – but he isn’t. Do you really hate Zuko enough to let the real killer walk free as a consequence?’ 

Oh-so-quietly, Ray said, ‘Let go of me.’ 

‘Ray, please. Do you honestly believe that by jailing him, you won’t have to feel guilty anymore?’ 

Forcing Fraser away, Ray yelled, ‘Get your hands off of me.’ He pinned the Mountie with a solid glare across a couple of yards of cold Winter air. ‘I’m not guilty of anything.’ 

‘You feel like you are.’ 

‘Oh, spare me,’ Ray said in his most disgusted tones. ‘What would you know about how I feel? You have no heart, Fraser.’ 

The Mountie’s gaze dropped for a moment, and then returned to the cop’s. ‘I assure you that I do, Ray.’ 

‘Yeah, right. Welsh told me you went to talk with Charlie. That man was going to kill you not so long ago, how can you just talk to him like that? How can you go to him for help?’ 

‘I had to, Ray. It was difficult, but I had to do it for the sake of the case. I want Louis’s murderer brought to justice as much as you do. But Frank Zuko isn’t the murderer.’ 

Ray let a moment drag by, then shook his head. He really had other priorities right now. Irene needed him. ‘Look, I don’t have time to get into this with you, Fraser. You didn’t hear what I just heard, OK? I’ve got probable cause to go in there, he’s yelling about how he’s going to kill her.’ 

Before the Mountie had the chance to respond to this, Huey opened the rear door of the van, and poked his head out. ‘Vecchio. Zuko has got company. Michael Sorrento just showed up.’ 

‘All right,’ Ray said, recovering his decisiveness. ‘I’m going in after her. Jack, call for back-up.’ 

Behind him, Fraser called out, ‘Ray –’ but it was too late. The cop was already halfway across the front garden, heading for the Zuko house. 

♦

Frank Zuko was sitting at his desk in the den, and Michael Sorrento stood before him. Charlie loomed ominously off to one side, watching, always watching. To his credit, Sorrento seemed relatively unfazed by the situation. 

‘There was no war with the Dorrio brothers,’ Frank said. He used a deceptively hushed tone so that Sorrento would know he was deadly serious. ‘It was you, Michael. You started a war with me, when all you needed was a little patience.’ 

The fellow almost smiled at this. ‘You hardly lead by example when it comes to patience, Frank.’ 

‘Obviously you’d be surprised.’ Zuko shook his head. ‘You went about this the wrong way, though I can’t fault your enthusiasm. You busted up the café and the gambling den. You burned down two of my warehouses.’ He left a significant pause. ‘And you killed Gardino.’ 

‘Our type of business, it’s a big responsibility.’ 

‘Yes, it is. But you still have things to learn. You can’t run the business the way you wage a war, Michael.’ 

‘I disagree. This business needs a strong hand – you know that, Frank.’ 

‘Oh, I still have the strongest hand, Michael. You don’t know what strength is.’ Zuko stood, and at last let Sorrento really see the fury. ‘But you can still recognize it, can’t you? Because if you really need me to prove it to you,’ Zuko said, speaking so very softly, ‘I’ll kill you right here and now.’ 

The moment held, and Frank waited for Sorrento to make what must be one of the most difficult decisions of his life. But if Michael was even half as smart as Frank used to think him, the fellow would now back down as gracefully as possible. 

And then the front door opened, and a blurred figure dashed towards the stairs. 

The mood broken by this intrusion, Frank stormed out of the den to determine what was going on. ‘Who the hell is that?’ The shorn head was instantly recognizable. Ray Vecchio. ‘No. No!’ Frank yelled, absolutely flabbergasted by the gall of the man. ‘You get out. What do you think you’re doing here?’ 

Ray continued up the stairs, apparently oblivious. Frank strode back into the den, went to his desk, collected his gun from the top drawer, and slid the clip of bullets into it. 

♦

Benton Fraser didn’t really quite believe, technically speaking, Ray had probable cause to simply walk into Zuko’s home like that. Perhaps, if it had been Fraser in such a situation, he would have stood on the front step and stubbornly insisted on talking to Irene, with a view to ascertaining what the situation really was. But perhaps, when dealing with Zuko, that kind of approach, no matter how politely intransigent the Mountie was, simply wouldn’t achieve anything. 

Ray had left the front door wide open, and Fraser could hear that Frank Zuko had already seen Ray, and that the mobster was furious. Which gave Fraser probable cause, as a friend if not as a law enforcement officer, to begin walking slowly up the path. He might not go inside, there might be no need for him to actually go inside – but he should at least be ready to help, he would wait up there on the steps. Just in case. 

♦

Ray was in Irene’s bedroom again, and the atmosphere was rather more fraught than when he had left it only a couple of hours ago. He had run in to find her standing stranded by the window, dressed in her Winter coat. Perhaps she was contemplating making a dangerous escape down the vine, or hoping beyond reason that Ray would climb up it again. 

Well, Ray was done with taking the indirect route. It was time for him and Irene to make a declaration of independence from Frank. ‘Come with me,’ Ray said. He walked over to her, and took her hand in his. Her slim fingers were ice cold. 

‘What?’ 

‘He threatened to kill you. Come with me.’ 

Irene shook her head, still standing there all tensed up and shaking. Ray couldn’t quite read her – it wasn’t just that she was scared or angry, though she was a little of both of those things. There was something else going on inside of her, some kind of crisis. 

‘It’s your decision, OK?’ Ray told her, talking fast. ‘It’s not my decision. But I think you should get out of here, and I’ll help you do that.’ 

There were footsteps coming up the stairs, heavy ones. Frank, no doubt. 

‘God, he’s threatening to kill you, Irene.’ 

At last she spoke. ‘I can handle him, Ray.’ 

‘No one can handle him when he’s in this kind of mood.’ Ray tugged urgently at her hand, his cop instincts or maybe just his basic survival instinct clamoring for him to get them both out of this place. ‘You’ve already got a cut lip. Let’s go before he does worse.’ 

And at last Irene took a step, though Ray couldn’t tell whether she was giving in to his will, or following her own. That didn’t really matter for now, though – what mattered was that she had broken out of her horrible frozen stance, and was now moving. Hanging onto her hand, Ray led her out of the bedroom. 

♦

Frank was standing there, at the head of the stairs, with a gun aimed at them. He said, ‘Take your hands off my sister.’ 

Coming to an abrupt halt, Ray made sure Irene remained behind him, shielded as well as he could manage for now. He held out his empty right hand, asking for reason, conveying calmness. ‘Easy, Frank,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t be stupid about this.’ 

‘You’re not going out of this house with my sister.’ Zuko wasn’t yelling. In fact, he sounded quite rational – and that somehow made this even scarier. ‘She’s staying right here where she belongs.’ 

‘For God’s sake, Frank,’ Irene said. ‘Don’t do this.’ 

‘ _He’s_ the one who’s doing this,’ Zuko retorted. 

‘No,’ she replied, ‘I am. It’s my decision. But don’t you go making it any harder than it has to be, Frank. We don’t have to do it this way, OK?’

Ray clasped Irene’s hand tightly, part of him feeling proud of her, though most of him was of course focused on this out-of-control man with a gun in his hand. Irene’s fingers were warmer now, her voice more confident, and her internal crisis was obviously past. Good, thought Ray, she’s doing the best thing for herself, coming with me – we’ve just got to get through this, past Frank… 

‘I’ll tell you what,’ Ray said to Frank, ‘let’s take this outside. You want this, then let’s do it man to man, all right? Let’s leave Irene out of it.’ 

But Frank’s face darkened. 

♦

None of them knew exactly what was going on at the time, for no one had a clear view of everyone else, there were too many people each taking an active role, and it was all over in a few taut moments. But they pieced it together afterwards, bit by bit, searching for understanding, painfully considering all the what-ifs that might have led to different conclusions. For the moment, however, all was chaos. 

♦

Michael Sorrento stood in the darkness at the foot of the stairs. Neither Vecchio nor Irene could see him. Frank, in his fury, was oblivious to anyone but his sister and the cop. Sorrento slowly drew his gun out from its shoulder holster, then let his hand fall by his side. This seemed far too good an opportunity not to be taken advantage of, and he may as well use it to eliminate his boss once and for all. It sure beat taking Zuko down the slow way. And, even as he began mentally composing a heart-wrenching tale about defending Irene and her ridiculous choice of a boyfriend, Sorrento raised his gun towards Frank. 

‘I’ll tell _you_ what.’ And Frank was at last yelling, directing it all at Ray. The mobster chambered a round in the mean-looking hand-gun. ‘How about you get the hell out of here? Before I kill you.’ 

‘OK,’ Ray said quietly. 

‘I can’t believe you even had the _nerve_ to come in here –’ Lost for words at the thought of the cop’s audacity, Frank grimaced, an all-over kind of grimace that shuddered through him. Over the years, Ray had seen Frank Zuko in a rage a number of times. This beat all of them. 

Letting go of Irene, Ray raised both of his hands palm-out in surrender. And he shifted again to make sure she was sheltered behind him. ‘OK,’ he repeated in a reasonable tone. ‘I’m leaving.’ He wanted to placate the man, but there was a danger in making Frank feel like he was being humored. ‘Why don’t you put the gun down?’ 

‘Why don’t you get the hell out of my house!’ 

‘Give me that one little break, Frank. I can’t walk away from Irene while you’re still pointing that thing in her direction, all right?’ 

Though of course Ray had no intention of walking away from this place without Irene – which fact was on a strictly need-to-know basis, and Frank really didn’t need to know that right now. 

There were sirens outside, and movement. Back-up was arriving, people were running towards the house. Ray knew that he and Irene just had to hang on for a few moments longer, and then Frank would simply have to back away from this stand-off. Unless Frank Zuko wanted to commit cold-blooded murder in front of several reliable witnesses. 

♦

Peering through the open front door into the dimness of the hall, Benton Fraser beheld a deadly tableau. At the head of the stairs was Frank Zuko, standing in the light, angry and aiming his gun at someone up on the second floor – presumably Ray Vecchio, perhaps Irene Zuko as well. Right there in front of Fraser, in the shadows of the foyer with his foot on the first stair, was Michael Sorrento. 

And Sorrento was raising his gun to aim at Zuko. 

‘Frank!’ Fraser called out, intending both to warn the man and hopefully to distract him from his own intended target. 

Even as he spoke, Fraser was running through the hall, and then throwing himself forward to tackle Sorrento. The two men fell in a heavy tangle on the stairs. Sorrento’s gun went off – but the man’s arms were already aiming too low, and Fraser knew the shot must have gone wild. 

♦

Hearing the shot, and assuming it was Frank firing – for he knew nothing of Sorrento’s or Fraser’s actions – Ray threw open his coat and drew his gun. 

‘No!’ Irene cried. She brought her right arm up against him, throwing her weight behind it to push Ray out of the way, sending his gun-arm wide and high – in effect, not only getting Ray out of Frank’s line of sight, but also ensuring that Ray didn’t have a clear shot at her brother. 

♦

Unaware of Sorrento, and thinking that Ray had fired the first shot, Frank’s finger tightened on the trigger. The gun bucked in his clenched grip, the noise cracked in ears already numbed. 

Jack Huey had belatedly followed Fraser inside. Gun in hand, he was now running up the stairs towards Zuko.

And meanwhile, Charlie was standing down there in the first floor foyer, simply watching and waiting for an outcome. 

Ray fired, determined to return Frank’s shot – even if he didn’t hit the guy, Ray had to prove to Zuko that he could defend both himself and Irene. His bullet tore into a porcelain ornament, and it shattered. 

Frank flinched as the shards rained down on his head, one of them scratching across a cheekbone. And before Zuko could fire again, Huey yelled, ‘Drop it!’ The Detective had reached him, his gun was now held point-blank at Frank’s chest. Huey’s left arm reached to drag Frank’s hands down. ‘Drop it,’ he commanded again. ‘Now, back off.’ And, continuing his momentum, Huey pushed Frank across the landing and up against the far wall. 

Having already disarmed Sorrento, Fraser was hauling the man’s hands behind his back. Sorrento was making this difficult, struggling and complaining and continually muttering, ‘What the hell, what the hell…’ But Fraser did not bother treating him gently, for this was the man who had killed Louis Gardino. Justice would at last be done. 

♦

Ray Vecchio stood there, looking about him. Huey had Frank under control, Fraser was almost literally sitting on Sorrento. A uniformed cop ran in, and more followed. It was over. It was over, and the good guys had won. 

Turning away, postponing all the tedium of tidying up a mess like this, Ray wondered for a moment where Irene was. And then he saw her. 

Irene Zuko was sitting on the floor with her back against the doorframe, her long legs askew. She was breathing in tiny crying pants, a worried frown marring her beautiful features. There was blood on her white blouse, blood blooming over her breastbone. 

Ray dropped to his knees before her. ‘Oh my God…’ he said, beginning with a murmur, ‘oh my _God,’_ and ending with the most fervent of prayers, _‘oh my **God**!’_

Benton Fraser looked up, hearing the grief in Ray’s voice. Profoundly afraid of what the cause might be, Fraser absently handed Sorrento over to one of the police officers. 

Huey, gun still hard against Frank’s chest, looked back over his shoulder. 

Frank Zuko stared blankly, not comprehending. 

Irene managed to lift her arms around Ray’s shoulders, and he gathered her up, lifted her and stood. Walked, carrying this precious burden. He was already crying for her, crying for what they’d done to her. He made his careful way around the head of the stairs, and started down, passing her brother. Her brother Frank, who’d shot her. 

‘Wait…’ Frank was muttering, ‘wait.’ As if he could take it all back and make it better again. ‘Irene!’ he cried out. ‘No,’ he said, voice breaking as he began to realize what had happened. Huey held him there, keeping him out of the way. 

‘Call an ambulance!’ Ray yelled. Walking, not stumbling. 

Fraser, his up-turned blue gaze bright even in the hall’s dimness, nodded – immediately ran off into the den for the phone. There may well be an ambulance on the way – they’d probably asked for one just in case, when Ray had called for back-up – but Fraser could make sure, and hurry them up. 

Irene’s head was cradled against Ray’s shoulder, her breath ragged against his throat. Confusing, the good memories this invoked, even now while utter terror clutched at his heart. 

‘You never listened.’ She’d been trying to speak, and she finally got the words out as they reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘You never listened to me.’ 

‘I’m listening,’ he told her. 

‘Promise me it ends here. You and Frank, it finishes now.’ 

‘Close your eyes,’ Ray murmured, too distraught to give this promise due consideration – and completely unprepared to make a vow there was every chance he wouldn’t keep. ‘Close your eyes. It will be OK.’ 

‘Promise me,’ Irene said as Ray made his way down the front steps. ‘I love you both so much. Promise me, Ray.’ 

But all he could do was hold her close in his arms and cry.

♦


	7. Seven

♦

It was a long night, and yet not long enough. Ray would have been content for the night to last forever. Because when it was over, and the cold dawn light began slicing through the venetian blinds of the Intensive Care Unit – well, that was when Irene slipped away from him, and this time there would be no second chances. 

♦

They had let Ray sit with her for those last couple of hours, once she was out of surgery and it was simply a matter of waiting. He had told the hospital staff she was his fiancée, and they had let him sit there and hold her hand and talk to her and occasionally press a kiss to her palm. Realizing that he and Irene had never spoken of the future, Ray at last told her about those happy plans he’d had. He spun her such a wonderful story about Father Behan reading the banns, and Ma Vecchio welcoming Irene and her children to the family home, and how Ray would really love it if Irene got married in blue velvet though surely she would look magnificent in a proper white bridal gown. Surely all of that would have been enough to give her reason to hang on, if there was any chance of it. If Ray Vecchio himself could possibly be reason enough. 

But, no. Irene Zuko’s time had come. 

♦

Ray blessed her with a last kiss, and walked out to the waiting room. 

There was an odd little group of men there. Jack Huey was pacing back and forth, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. He looked bleak, and was perhaps thinking of his partner, perhaps remembering that other long night during which Louis Gardino had died. Benton Fraser was leaning against the wall with his head bowed. He seemed sad and patient, and was no doubt wishing there was some way in which he could be of use. And over there, in a corner guarded by two uniformed police officers, was Frank Zuko. 

In contrast to the quiet of the waiting room, and beyond a set of locked glass doors, members of the press seethed with loud eagerness, wanting the sensation of this story. Ray pointedly ignored them. 

Fraser lifted his head as Ray pushed through the double doors leading from the ICU. Huey stopped his pacing and came over, the three of them gathered close together. 

Propping himself against a nearby wall, Ray stared over at Frank – who perhaps still knew Ray well enough to read the grief on his face. The mobster seemed small in the dull morning light, Ray had never seen Frank Zuko look so reduced. 

‘How is she?’ asked Huey. 

Ray shifted his stare to his friend, his best friend, who stood there before him. And Fraser certainly knew Ray well enough to not have to ask. The Mountie bowed his head in sorrow again. 

‘Irene didn’t make it,’ Ray finally said, for Jack’s benefit. And for Frank, if he still had any doubts over the matter. Ray pushed himself away from the wall and wandered off across the room, kind of dazed. Fraser walked along by Ray’s shoulder. 

After a moment, Huey trailed after them. ‘Look,’ the Detective murmured, talking strategy, ‘before you say anything else, Ray. We could nail Zuko for this. We could finally take him down.’ 

Interrupting him, and speaking clearly so that everyone in the room would hear, Ray declared, ‘It was an accident.’ 

‘We’ve got Sorrento for killing Louis,’ Huey continued. ‘Now let’s finish the job, let’s clean this whole thing up.’ 

‘No, Jack. No.’ 

Huey stepped around in front of Ray, and stood there pleading with him face-to-face. ‘But, Vecchio, it’s simple – all you’ve got to do is say that he shot her with intent, and you’ve got Frank Zuko for murder.’ 

Gazing at this man, his colleague, Ray let out a sigh. After all the extremes of love and anger and fear and grief that the long night had brought him, Ray was just feeling numb now. But he remembered all too distinctly that as he’d watched them take Irene into the operating room, Ray felt appalled by what had happened. Utterly appalled. And he’d felt sobered, too, as if until then he’d been drunk, blind-drunk on his righteous hatred of Frank – which wasn’t so righteous after all. More like piteous. 

And now here was Jack Huey, with the need for vengeance that had been Ray’s own attitude until a few hours ago. Ray tried to get through to Jack with his sincerity – ‘It was an accident, man.’ And when Huey just stared back at him, not yet understanding, Ray let disgust twist his mouth. ‘It was an accident.’ 

Ray wandered on, passing Jack by. Barely noticing the gathering of press just beyond the doors. 

Fraser, of course, had been pretty much right all along. Wanting to bring Sorrento to justice instead of madly going after Zuko, that was what they all should have done. And maybe things would have turned out very differently. Meanwhile, Fraser was still here at Ray’s side, they were still friends despite all the cruel things Ray had said to him. That was really the best kind of friend to have.

Behind him, Ray was dimly aware of the police officers leading Zuko away. There would still be questions asked and reports filed. The State’s Attorney would consider whether to charge Zuko with manslaughter. Well, Ray wasn’t going to have anything more to do with it than he could help. When they asked him, he would just tell them the truth. Irene shouldn’t have died, but it was an accident. 

‘I don’t think you want to go through there,’ Fraser was murmuring. 

Ray looked around him, saw the press close by clamoring for an interview. But Fraser was gently leading him out of harm’s way, and Ray let him. A comforting arm slipped around Ray’s shoulders as Fraser took him over to a row of chairs. Nice, that the reticent Mountie would make that gesture. 

The two of them sat, and Ray rested his head back against the wall, weary beyond anything he’d ever known. Fraser was beside him, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, turning his head to look at Ray. They let a silence ease by. Ray had always appreciated that Fraser never tried to say anything when there was nothing to say, he never stumbled through words that would always be inadequate – the Mountie was just _there_ , with all his empathy and all his compassion. It was more than enough. 

And in the silence, Ray’s thoughts of course returned to Irene. 

He remembered how it had all began, and he let out a laugh. Fraser seemed unsurprised by this moment of humor amidst the grief, and actually offered Ray a serious and genuine kind of smile. The cop swallowed hard, though he had finally quit crying when they brought Irene out of the operating room – for, if she’d been able to hear him talking about their future together, Ray hadn’t wanted it to sound sad. 

‘The first time I ever asked her to dance,’ he said to his friend now, ‘she looked so sweet in her new blue velvet dress. I quoted _Romeo and Juliet_ at her, trying to make an impression. She was just seventeen. Frank was there, too, of course – it was a school dance. He tried to cut in, he told her not to dance with me, but I stood my ground and let her make up her own mind. She was so scared at defying Frank, though, she was trembling in my arms.’ 

Ray frowned over this, the conflicting notions he had of Irene’s bravery and of her fragility. He thought of her slim white arm, as delicate and beautiful as the limbs of a porcelain statue – and yet strong enough to push Ray out of the way of Frank’s bullet, to force his own aim off. It finally occurred to him that she’d had to be brave simply _because_ she was so vulnerable. 

‘Yeah,’ Ray continued, ‘she was so nervous that she kept trying to lead. I guess she was trying to prove to herself that she could be in control of her life, she could decide who to dance with. Frank was hovering over by the wall, glowering at us. I just ignored him. We danced, kind of clumsy. Finally I had to ask Irene to… to relax. It would be OK.’ And Ray repeated the words he had said to her, his voice falling to a whisper. ‘Just put your head on my shoulder, and close your eyes. Close your eyes. Everything’s going to be OK.’ 

Over fifteen years ago, and he could remember the sight of her so clearly, his body could remember the feel of her against him, his mouth remembered the shape of the words. 

‘And I figure that’s when we fell in love. She trusted me, and she became graceful again, she was almost always graceful – it didn’t matter so much that I was still clumsy, I was such a gawky kid until I met Irene. We danced the whole evening away.’ 

Fraser was still looking at Ray. He nodded, indicating that he understood Ray’s story. 

Ray let out another sigh. ‘She had kids, you know.’ 

‘Ah.’ The Mountie sounded sad again. ‘No, I didn’t know that.’ 

‘I hope her ex is OK, because those kids shouldn’t grow up in that damned house, they should go to their father. I hope he can take care of them better than Frank would.’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘I don’t know her husband. But Irene wasn’t ever really in control of her life. She was terrified of her father and of Frank. They owned her, you know, they told her what to do. I hope her ex was different. Because even when she was brave enough to defy Frank and be with me – she was just adding another man to the whole damned scenario.’ 

‘Well,’ said Fraser slowly, ‘I think that perhaps you were a different kind of man, Ray. You treated Irene as a person.’ 

‘Maybe. But it didn’t make any difference in the end, did it?’ Ray let his head fall to one side so that he was talking more directly to his friend. ‘Irene died because of the men in her life, right?’ 

Fraser lifted his brow m consideration. ‘Perhaps.’ 

‘Yeah, she did. I used to think I was different to Pop, different to her father. I liked to think I was better than them, and better than Frankie. But I’m as guilty as any of them. In the end I was no better for her than any of the others.’ 

‘Ray,’ said the Mountie, ‘I think you’re being too hard on yourself.’ 

‘Well, maybe I need to be.’ 

It was so damned tempting right now, Ray reflected, to do the masculine thing and destroy Frank over this. But the cop was beginning to see that destroying Frank would also destroy the part of Ray himself that Irene had loved. So, maybe he could find it in himself not to, maybe he could go with the instinct that had resisted Huey’s plea for vengeance. If he had failed so far in being a different kind of man, then even if it was too late for Irene, Ray would try again, try to be better.

‘You know what?’ Ray said to his friend, feeling somewhat lighter of heart. ‘I wanted to take Frank down for Louis. But I’m going to let him go for Irene.’ 

Fraser smiled at him, looking happier than he had for too long a time. ‘Do it for yourself, Ray. Let him go for the sake of your own self.’ 

‘Yeah.’ Ray nodded, and looked about him. ‘You know a way out of this building that avoids those damned reporters?’ 

‘Yes, Ray.’ 

‘Then let’s get out of here.’ He stood, and let Fraser lead the way down a side corridor. 

Sorry, Louis, Ray thought to himself. I’m sorry, Irene love. Goodbye. 

Walking past a window, Ray saw that the day was warming and the fog was lifting. The sun was bright on the fresh snow. It was going to be one of those rare crisp clear days. Fraser glanced back at Ray, and smiled again at what he saw. 

‘You hungry, Benny?’ Ray asked. 

‘Yes.’ 

‘Good. Let’s go track down some breakfast. Do you think you can do that?’ 

‘Nothing easier, Ray.’ 

‘And then, after breakfast, all you have to do is find me another mint condition 1971 emerald green Buick Riviera.’ 

‘Ah. Well, that could prove to be a little more difficult. They are quite a rare and elusive quarry.’ 

‘Surely it’s not beyond you, Benny. Didn’t those Inuit hunters teach you anything?’ 

The Mountie walked even taller if that were possible, a noble look of resolution falling across his face. ‘I’ll do my very best, Ray.’ 

Oh yeah, Ray Vecchio thought – everything’s going to be OK.

♦


End file.
